


The Monster at the End of This Book

by inplayruns



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 69ing, Action Scenes, Agender Character, Alternate Universe - Pokemon Fusion, Amnesia, Angst, Fluff, Happy Ending, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Pokemon - Freeform, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rimming, Slow Burn, detailed warnings in the intro notes, top!Cas bottom!Dean & top!Dean bottom!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 14:26:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 126,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5294612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inplayruns/pseuds/inplayruns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pokemon AU. After the tragic destruction of his family, Dean Winchester settles down in a new city and attempts to make a new life for himself and his loyal, gregarious Vaporeon. When his job at a Pokemon nursery leads him to the man who saved his life a decade ago, Castiel, he’s stunned by the discovery – only to find that Cas doesn’t remember him at all. And that might only be the start of some real rot in the foundations of the whole damn world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WOW I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S TIME TO FINALLY POST THIS THING. Some time in February I decided a Pokemon AU would be cute, and, well... now we're here.
> 
> nunubunkie's gorgeous art for this fic can be seen [here](http://themonsterattheendofthisbook15.tumblr.com/post/134057276887/nunubunkies-gorgeous-art-for-this-dcbb-under-the). It contains fic spoilers, but please make sure to check it out!
> 
> I've provided [a reference guide](http://themonsterattheendofthisbook15.tumblr.com/) to the Pokemon mentioned in this fic. It's not necessary, but hopefully it will be helpful.
> 
> Hover over these words for more detailed warnings, though be warned the warnings are spoilery. There are several background pairings in this fic as well.
> 
> Further notes/thanks are at the end of this fic because everyone who helped me through this thing deserves all the gushing in the world <333
> 
> Enjoy!!

“Friggin’ malls,” Dean grumbles. He walks by one hell of an outlandish advertisement, framed with blinking fluorescents and portraying a Salamence and Dragonite engaged in fierce battle over a sporting goods warehouse, of all things. A Flaaffy bleats at him as they pass by a grooming kiosk. There are a few balloons, big and shiny and in the shape of round Pokemon like Voltorb and Wailmer, tied to the kiosk; they bounce into each other as Dean walks by and their foil coverings spark light all over the walls. “I hate ‘em.” 

Dean doesn’t, really. There are so many stores to peek into, so much teeming humanity all around him. Even that stupid ad, the empty-sounding collision of the balloons, at least it’s exciting. He knows the song of the open road by heart by now, all those long stretches of highway unmarked by landmarks or Pokemon, but they’re not the same.

He’s unused to this many people, too. Most of the time, the only company he gets is Sam sitting in the backseat with him, Vaporeon and Sam’s Espeon squished too tightly next to them because Dad’s Zebstrika needs the front seat. None of them are much for talking on those rides. 

But hating malls is something dad would probably approve of, even if he’s the one who dragged them here, so Dean says it anyway. Even as he’s gazing into the electronics stores and wondering how all the Rotoms and Magnetons in there affect the equipment. Even if he kinda secretly has expensive suit lust and tries to steal glances into the fancy department stores, the kind of places that have special waiting areas for Pokemon so they don’t shed on the clothing. Even if the food court looks _awesome_ with its multitude of bright neon displays highlighting big, drippy burritos while he tries to ignore that he hasn’t had a decent meal in a couple of days.

Really, though, as dad keeps saying, all they’re there for is to grab some new clothes in the cheapest place they can find. Hidden away in the corner of the mall, like whoever designed Shopping Mall Nine is ashamed of it, is the generic warehouse. That’s where they stock up on bland plaids and jeans that come off the rack looking dusty, fabric going thin at the knees.

“Not enough for new boots,” John tells them, and Sam looks crestfallen. He’s already as tall as Dean even though he’s four years younger – Dean hates that, obviously – and zipping through clothes every couple of months. He whines about the soles of his shoes wearing down, and yeah, Dean thinks he’s being a baby because that’s his little brother, but he also gets it. He’s stuck in the same boat. Or car, most of the time, more appropriately. 

Dean tries not to resent his room in the hotel built into the mall because it’s probably the reason they can’t afford new boots. After all, it’s a _nice_ hotel room, especially for his standards, and hell, he even got his own room that he didn’t have to share with Sam or Dad or anyone but Vaporeon. There’s complimentary lotion in a cloying vanilla scent, and sufficient towels as opposed to ones with ragged holes in them, and Dean pointedly doesn’t think of the home he doesn’t have.

It’s late when Vaporeon starts scratching at the tiny window in the hotel room, pushing aside the curtains so she can poke the glass and leave it dripping wet where her paws make impact. The hotel room’s super nice, sure, but it’s also bone-dry and needs some sort of humidifier; Dean’s not surprised Vaporeon’s complaining. The bathroom has a shower, but no tub, and she didn’t fit in the sink either. If he put Vaporeon in the bathroom, he’d soak the floor. 

In the future, Dean will think, he can’t believe everything started because Vaporeon was driving him nuts with her need to go outside.

“Tired of scrubbing up messes,” he grumbles, and to his surprise Vaporeon turns away from the window and nods at him. “Glad you agree, girl.”

Everybody knows that even though it’s on a highway, outside Shopping Mall Nine isn’t the best place to be at night. Most scary stories that get passed around involving Pokemon, they’re kids’ stuff. One of Sam’s classmates who gave him way too much shit over Espeon had told both Sam and Dean that Psychic types could scramble their brains, like it was an excuse; a woman sitting behind the front desk at the entrance to the Nature Preserve frowned at them when she gave them their tickets and told them that too much exposure to Poison types wouldn’t be good for humans, warning them against the wild Gloom and Tentacruel; and there were way too many whispered rumors, everywhere they went, about Dark types turning _evil_.

At this point, even Sam knows better than believing in that crap. He and Dean have both seen real horror anyway. It ain’t anything like a Purrloin.

The gangs by Shopping Mall Nine, though, are real. Calling them _gangs_ sounds ridiculous, but that’s the only word to describe the jackwagons that gather together outside the mall at night. No kids are around, and no guards either, and the gangs run wild, accompanied by the metallic roar of their motorcycles.

The otherwise pristine white walls of the mall are marred by graffiti, most of it pretty disturbing. Lots of images of Pokemon with blood wiped red across their jaws, awful shit like that. Dean wouldn’t want Sam to see any of it. 

Dean’s not going outside to gawk at the graffiti. He’s going outside because of the pool nearby. Can’t be more than a mile away. The elevation’s pretty non-existent here, but Dean can still see the moon glinting off it a bit in the distance, an invitation. An oasis. A _trap_.

It’s a terrible idea. Dean knows all about what goes on outside Shopping Mall Nine. But all Vaporeon does is put herself on the line for him, over and over. She shoved herself into awful battles to keep John off Dean’s ass, she curls up beside him at night even though she whines about the scratchy blankets. The least he can do is take her to the one real water source nearby.

The night’s quiet enough. Good sign. For now. Normally, Vaporeon’s pretty damn slow – Dean has called her “plodding” enough times in the past, even though she whacks him with her tail every time he does – but now, she darts through the grass. 

Dean doesn’t let himself think of all the little brooks in Village Bridge. He doesn’t think of their house. The house has gotta be practically growing dust at this point; he hasn’t been back in over a year. It might have burned down, it might have had one of those creeks creep into it and make the walls turn to rot. Dean wouldn’t know, and it digs a pit in his stomach.

“Eee,” Vaporeon offers, but it’s low-pitched. She’s slowed down her march toward the water. Obviously, she’s not a Psychic type, but she’s good at sensing Dean’s mood after all this time. When Espeon’s around, Dean gets twin sets of beady Pokemon eyes trained on him, and he’s only just getting used to it. 

Here, though, that look from Vaporeon is a comfort. The wet mud smell of the creek outside his house will never leave him, because the scent clings to Vaporeon, stuck between her gills. Sometimes it makes him want to shove her away and not fucking _think_ about it, but he knows that’s unfair. Especially considering the relief it is right now.

It doesn’t take them too long to get to the little pond, and Vaporeon jumps right in. Her splash is loud, but Dean doesn’t see or hear anyone else, so he stays wary but figures it’s alright for the moment. He can’t really feel bad, anyway, not when Vaporeon’s shuddering in absolute ecstasy, the gills around her neck and in even rings on her sides shivering in and out.

Vaporeon comes bounding out of the water soon after. Like always, she doesn’t bother to shake the droplets off her, so she leaves a long dripping trail behind her. It’s just grass, Dean thinks. And it’s night. The trail isn’t going to be obvious; he’s good at never leaving an obvious trail behind him. Dad taught him that much. 

They’re not far from the mall, with the hotel tucked neatly into its side. This was no problem. No problem at all. Dean was worried about nothing. 

That’s when he hears it.

It’s nothing but a slight whirr, but it’s from something man-made. It’s not a Pokemon, no Hoppip trying to keep itself aloft or Klink keeping itself rolling through the night. Dean’s heart picks up to match its pace. The path behind him might sputter out, but in front of him, all it leads to is a tall, slim man. Dean can’t make out his features at all, but shit, _shit_ , this can’t be anything good.

“Hello, boy.” The voice is high and cold, calm yet somehow gleeful at once. “Pretty Vaporeon you got there.” 

Dean isn’t surprised that Vaporeon all but jumps in front of him, but he gestures to her to get the hell back _behind_ him. She does, even if she’s grumbling all the way, and glaring at the shadowy figure harder than Dean is. “Best Pokemon there is.”

“You know anything about fighting?”

Does he ever. Dean would snort at that, but his terror’s frozen him. All he can do for now is stare ahead, trying to keep the look in his eyes a challenge. 

He still can’t make out this asshole’s face. But he can tell one thing: he doesn’t have a Pokemon. Adults without Pokemon – they’ve either got some kind of weird-ass and super rare allergy, or they’re really bad news. Dean’s going to guess that, for this guy, it’s not the former.

“Could say I have experience.”

Only since he was ten years old. At first it was fun, him and Sam and their Eevees and that moment of triumph whenever Dean’s Eevee got in a good hit against Sam’s. But then John started telling their Pokemon what to do, and there was scratching and biting involved, and rushing the Eevees to the Pokemon Center afterward. He remembers lots of sharp glances in those Pokemon Centers, confusion mixed with pity, and fuck that because he never needed either of those directed at him.

There were lots of training gyms Dean and Vaporeon ended up in after that. They started off in the nicer ones, back when John was willing to pay, but that didn’t last too long. He’s been going to cheaper and sketchier ones for years, now. John’s probably overdue to go back to Village Bridge for a visit, and that means Gordon and Kubrick and their damn Durant and Lanturn will sniff Dean out again. He ain’t lookin’ forward to it.

“I need some new trainers to come along with me.”

In the darkness, Dean doesn’t know if he can even see it, but he shoots a grin at this guy. That’s his defense and he knows it. “Pretty good here, buddy.” He can tell, Vaporeon’s spoiling for a fight, just waiting to dash forward, but Dean – he keeps motioning to her to get back with his free hand. He really hopes this guy can’t see it. Vaporeon could take anyone in a fight, he’s sure of it, but he’s got this pit in his stomach that says any fight with this asshole won’t end well for anyone.

The man chuckles. “I wasn’t asking. I know good trainers when I see them. I know good _fighters_ when I see them.” 

_Fighter_. The word sticks to Dean no matter how many times he tries to shake it off. It’s a compliment, he knows that, but. 

Most people his age have only had their Pokemon for a couple of years, and they’re still getting used to them before they head off to college to learn how to battle properly. Dean, on the other hand, has been fighting with Vaporeon for a full decade now, fudging his age on applications to training gyms and even tournaments. He’s gotten old, crappy dollar bills stuffed in his hands for coming in second and third and fourth – never first, he’s not good enough for that – too many times to count, ducked his head and said thanks, and ran off with Vaporeon to the nearest PokeCenter. 

Fighters. Both of them. Didn’t get ‘em much.

But long before that, Dean remembers his mom standing with his dad, before the fire took her away, smiling down at Dean in their backyard. “He’s a fighter, like his mom,” Dad had said, and Mary laughed and smacked him affectionately on the shoulder. Dean had beamed up at them because he’d been nothing more than a kid, not knowing that he was accepting the words like a cape around him for the rest of his goddamn life, apparently.

Now, though, Dean keeps his eyes ahead. They’re trained on the other man, but out of the corner of his eye – those are definitely others approaching him, _shit shit shit_. “Think I’m fine here.”

“I told you, I wasn’t asking.” He turns his wrist, and Dean still can’t make out what he has in his hand, but he knows it’s long and glints in the moonlight, the kind of weapon no one has any need for in a world where everyone has Pokemon. “I need new trainers, boy.” 

“Because you’re so special. Need other guys to fight your battles for you, huh?” Dean knows better, he _knows_ better. There’s no one here to even see this goddamn bravado, but he pushes on with it anyway. He’s never had a real good sense of self-preservation. 

Dean thinks he sees the man’s smile wilt. “You don’t know when to stop talking and listen,” he sighs, like he’s not fucking unhinged. “Don’t know what’s best for you. I’ll just have to show you.” 

He steps back, and finds himself swallowed up by a sudden crowd. There’s gotta be twenty of them. Must’ve followed the guy here, and Dean didn’t see it for a second. If, by some miracle, he gets away from this situation, he’ll have time to be flat-out _embarrassed_ later. 

In the dark, it’s hard to make out anyone’s features, which is probably what they were going for. Some distant part of Dean’s brain that isn’t rattling out _fuck fuck fuck_ is impressed by the assortment of Pokemon in front of him; yeah, there’s a hulking Cacturne and a Weezing with its eternally ill expression, but also an Illumise all lit up in purple and, of all things, a Slurpuff. Then Dean remembers these Pokemon were probably stolen, and it stops being funny.

He’s twenty years old, outside Shopping Mall Nine, and he’s going to get taken down by the goons they tell stupid cautionary stories about. There are enough movies where this happens that Dean wants to roll his eyes. Only this is his goddamn _life_ out here.

“Breeee!” Vaporeon leaps in front of Dean, the frill around her neck puffing out to its full length. She outright _snarls_ , too, a reminder that Vaporeon are damn powerful as a species even if Dean mostly sees them as enormous goofballs who leave water stains everywhere and are frequently hopelessly wobbly on land. 

“Good girl,” Dean whispers, because it’s still nearly twenty against one. Then, grimacing, he orders, “Hydro Pump, Vaporeon!” Normally it’s just a reminder of how fucked his life’s been, but right now her training’s reassuring.

In an instant, she transforms herself into an enormous torrent of water, rushing right at the crowd. It’s a glorious goddamn minute, because the column sprays everywhere, even getting all over Dean who doesn’t give a damn right now, but mostly bashing every one of those chuckleheads. Getting them right in the gut, clipping them in the shoulder, even getting a solid hit in on the head. A couple of the Pokemon dive out of the way, but most of them get blasted too. Dean winces, and hopes they’re okay. It’s a nasty necessity, but they don’t deserve that. 

He shouldn’t have felt bad. The thing about a horde is that any of the attacks on them get spread out, and some of the horde’s destined to be better-trained than others. So while some of the Pokemon and trainers stay down on the ground, most of them get up. They’re groggy at first, and then they’re just fucking pissed and hailing down attacks on both Dean and Vaporeon. 

An Eelektrik shoots a bolt of lightning right at them. They’re able to dodge it, but it strikes the horizon instead, and makes a noise like glass shattering when it hits. The ground stinks, acrid, and smoke rises up from the point of impact. Dean has to press the back of his hand to his mouth so he doesn’t puke right there. 

He takes just a half-second to goggle over it – Dad would scold him for hesitating, Dean knows it, and he hates that he’s right – and that’s when the Illumise gets him with some funky neon purple waves that stagger him right back. Something’s hooked hard in his gut, and soon it turns into an anchor dragging him to the ground, and all Dean can do is try not to think of anchors, ships, early afternoons laughing on the beach. Thinking that only drags the pain into the forefront of his mind, too, as opposed to only his body. He’s taken his share of bumps and bruises, he can deal with that.

Vaporeon’s doing a lot better than him at dodging the attacks, but they keep striking closer and closer. She’s gonna run out of room soon, _fuck_.

There’s this bone-reverberating screech – and Dean panics until he realizes Vaporeon’s never made that sound. It _hurts_ , but it melts right into the sweetest noise Dean’s ever heard because a second later, a huge bird of prey comes soaring down. Even in the darkness, the Staraptor’s all crest and big puffy feathers in front, and as goddamn beautiful as she sounds.

Starly’s pretty common. It’s not unthinkable this Staraptor is a momma, using her protective instincts. Dean cuts that thought off fast, because it can’t go anywhere good. That’s when he hears a voice, pitched low and full of gravel, command, “Sky Attack!” 

Immediately, Staraptor’s form ignites in icy white and she hurtles right toward that huge-ass Cacturne. In return, the Cacturne crosses her spiked arms in front of her in some attempt to form a natural shield, but it’s too late. All the Staraptor has to do is tap the center of Cacturne’s body with her beak – the movement is practically gentle – and the Cacturne goes limp and slides to the ground. 

Cacturne’s owner lets out a curse, but Dean barely hears it with his head inclined toward the voice that just saved him. He can’t make out the form well, but it’s definitely a dude, not too tall and not too short. He’s wearing some kind of long coat that billows in the wind. 

Dean still can’t move well, but he suspects even if he could he’d be stuck staring anyway. The guy looks like Dean’s goddamn superhero, cape and awesome Pokemon and all.

“Go! I’ll hold them off!” the voice calls out. 

Dean keeps gawking at the crowd before him. There’s gotta be at least ten guys and a couple of Pokemon, all of them hulking in the darkness. This guy’s gotta be crazy, and ten kinds of brave. 

As if on cue, he cries out, once more, “I’ll hold them all off!” Staraptor lets her wingspan stretch out to its full length, a shield of feathers and sinew against all that brawn and the Pokemon breathing poison into the air. Dean’s heart taps fast enough at the sight of the two of them, the man and his Pokemon, that he wonders if he got an Electrode stuffed up inside there while he wasn’t paying attention.

And because Dean has been a lot of things, but never a goddamn coward, he calls out for Vaporeon to do another Hydro Pump at the same time Staraptor’s owner orders her to Whirlwind the group in front of them.

Dean’s gotten used to the column of water that absolutely erupts from Vaporeon, but it never stops startling him just how huge the damn thing is. The wind screams up around them, the Staraptor taking to the air and beating her wings like some kind of great machine. But she’s not a machine, she’s real, and she’s right now she’s the most beautiful goddamn thing Dean’s ever seen.

He can’t imagine what it’ll be like when he can actually see her owner.

Everyone gets hit when the water and wind crash together in front of the goons, and Dean finds himself splattered, but the gang gets it the worst. They fly back sopping wet, resembling nothing more than squishy sacks of flour. It’s a glorious sight, so many of them on the ground hardly able to move.

But these aren’t the dummies Vaporeon got to practice on in training, or even the holograms a couple of the more advanced gyms had. These Pokemon, and their trainers, they’re all too real, complete with nasty claw knuckles and poison gas and enough psychic power to pin a human to the ground. And too many of them are getting right back up, and attacking again. 

“Shit,” Dean hears from Staraptor’s owner. Not a good sign, then.

Staraptor’s incredibly agile, as it turns out, darting in between variegated bolts of light like she’s part bird and part honing missile, but there are just too many of them. She’s already gotten clipped a few times, and it’s slowing her down.

They need a goddamn miracle. Another one, as if a super powerful Pokemon and a trainer who clearly knows what he’s doing doesn’t count.

They get one.

It erupts like fire, the searing blue light that swallows up all of them. Dean knows he’s in bad shape, bleeding from way too many cuts on his face and still locked to the ground from whatever fucked-up Psychic attack the baddies got him with, but he has to look away because it _hurts_ him more than anything else has so far. He closes his eyes and he still sees nothing but that blue light, consuming everything.

The light drains away, slowly. When Dean dares crack open one eye, they’re all – gone. Everyone’s gone. The only noise is the wind rustling the grass, the same wind that whipped up that guy’s coat, and the somewhat distant murmur from Shopping Mall Nine. Vaporeon bounces over to him, screeching her name; he’ll need to patch up her neck frill a bit, but other than that, she’s fine. Thank whoever is listening up there, if anyone is.

“What the _hell_ was that?” Dean all but erupts to the now-empty space before him.

“I don’t know.” It’s the same voice from before. And yeah, Dean’s gotta admit, someone _was_ listening.

“Bullshit,” Dean croaks out, finding that now he can thankfully move, even if all he’s got the energy left to do is roll over to one side to face his strange savior. Dude’s too far away to see, though, and as his Staraptor flies toward him her form gets hazy too.

“I _don’t_ ,” the voice says, and it’s not the panic in his voice that convinces Dean that this guy is for real. It’s the _nausea_ , like he can’t stand to see Dean helpless and stuck to the ground any more than Dean could watch Vaporeon get hit by any attack and writhe around on the floor of a gym, right before passing out.

Still. It takes him way too long than is polite to respond. Give him a break, he’s catching the fuck up. “Thanks.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” the voice says. The Staraptor swoops back to his side, turning into nothing but shadow, like his owner. “Stuck around, I mean.” 

“I’m the reckless type, what can I say.” Dean’s honestly impressed with the humor in his voice; his heart still thuds hard inside the shell of his chest.

“I’ve heard as much about myself.” Unlike Dean, there’s no humor in his voice, but there’s an odd fondness. It makes Dean’s chest feel even tighter, because he hasn’t heard anything said in that tone in too, too long. In the past, maybe Sam would’ve done it, but Sam is sixteen now, and sulky most of the time, if he’s not yelling at Dean for supposedly stealing a pair of his socks (whatever, if Sam can’t keep his crap straight, he shouldn’t be blaming Dean for it).

Dean gets back to his feet. He’s wobbly, and Vaporeon keeps looking at him in a way that’s so unbearably _caring_ ; Dean wants to tell her that she’s seen worse. Truth be told, though, getting jumped by a douchebag without a Pokemon – and Dean’s seen his dad meet with some sketchy people, but they always had a Pokemon with them, no one was _that_ fucked up, apparently – and then having his lackeys try to force him into going with them to his training facility is definitely the most twisted shit he’s been through. 

He’s not sure how it manages to come out, but Dean actually laughs. A genuine goddamn laugh. “Savin’ guys with the light show a thing for you?”

“I don’t know what that was any more than you do.” There’s a wobble in the guy’s voice at that. Barely perceptible, like he’s trying to hide it, but if Dean’s got one skill, it’s reading people. There aren’t any tells this guy is lying.

Dean wonders if he – alright, he wonders if he’s _distracted_ by the guy. He’s got a good voice, bumpy and soothing at the same time, but it’s not grabbing as much of Dean’s attention as it normally would if it was something whispered in his ear at a bar, because of the guy’s gaze. Even in the dark, it’s obvious. There’s something in the way he looks at him that Dean finds himself getting dizzy on, and he’s pretty sure it’s not just leftover adrenaline and terror from the fight. That gaze runs warm and _hot_. 

“Even if you’re a liar,” Dean says with a chuckle, “I appreciate it.” 

They walk together in the darkness, Staraptor circling slow and lazy as a lookout above their heads. And because Dean’s not completely rude, really, he asks, “Dude, I didn’t even catch your name –”

“Castiel.” 

“Okay, _Cas_ ,” Dean says in return, laughing. 

“It’s a mouthful, I know.” 

“Three syllables? That ain’t a mouthful.”

“Yes, well,” Cas says, sighing in sudden sharp annoyance, “you should meet some of the people I talk to.”

And shit. Maybe this guy’s got baggage too. Maybe he’s living like Dean, where he’s got no damn home and sleeps in his car. Maybe the reason this guy knew where to find him was because he got jumped here in the past. Maybe – maybe he’s another criminal, and the only reason he bailed Dean out was because he’s planning on dragging Dean away himself. 

Fuck, Dean’s stupid. He flicks his eyes over to Cas one last time, because he’s nothing if not weak, and then Dean’s _bolting_. When it comes to fight or flight, he’s gonna pick the former ninety percent of the time, but he’s gotta get himself out of this ass-end situation. His legs scream at him, his feet jolt with every thud against the ground, his lungs heave, but he _runs_. He’s got no damn practice with it, but it’s all he can do.

And that’s when Dean notices Vaporeon’s missing. “ _Fuck_ ,” he all but spits, whirling around and around in a wobbly circle –

To find Vaporeon still waiting at Cas’ side. It doesn’t look like either of them moved at all. Now that he’s looking back at her, she tilts her head. Dean’s pretty sure she’s asking _why are you running, idiot._

Dean can’t help it. He laughs. He doubles over, hands slapping at his knees, and laughs. He was running for his life twenty seconds ago, so it sounds more like a bark, but he’s getting it out anyway. 

“I must have startled you,” Cas says. It’s not an apology, but Dean figures it might be one from this guy. Dean gets it; he doesn’t say _sorry_ much either.

“Nah.” Dean flashes him a big, lying grin. “Hotel’s over this way.”

“Your Vaporeon is lovely.” 

That makes Dean’s grin bounce back to something natural. “Thanks. She’s – smart. A good judge of character, too.” He’s pretty sure Cas gets the message.

Their strides fall in line easy. When they walk together, Vaporeon sticking close to Dean now, it feels like the end of a date. He snorts to himself and shakes his head at that. No better sign that he’s a little fucked in the head that he thinks what just happened back there was a _date_ , complete with Dean running away from the guy at one point. 

“You’re a cop?” Dean asks.

Cas offers up another sigh. This one isn’t so much irritated as it is bone-deep weary. “Something like that. It was either become a _serious trainer_ or this, and I had no desire to put her through the former.” He holds his arm out, and Staraptor swoops down onto it. “Um. If you are –”

“No worries,” Dean cuts him off. “Training ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.” 

“Neither is being police-adjacent,” Cas says in return. “Sending young people into interrogation for misdemeanors while men like _that_ squeeze through the cracks.”

Dean blinks. The other cops he’s met were all blustery imperiousness, even the ones crooked enough to work with his dad. They looked the other way when Dean came into their stations, even when he had a limp or a purpling bruise across his face or a nasty gash on his arm. “You’re not like the cops from where I’m from.” Which would be nowhere and everywhere on the whole continent all at once, but Cas doesn’t need to know that for now.

Cas gives him a filament of a smile. “I’m starting to think I’m not like the cops anywhere.” 

They come across the hotel soon. It’s pearly white and pretty in the light cast on it. Dean catches Cas frowning at the scrawled graffiti on the outside wall. “I can normally handle it,” he tells him. “I just – I appreciated the backup there. Thanks.” 

He doesn’t think about what the hell might have happened if this stranger didn’t show up. After all, he did, so there’s no point in worrying about it.

What Dean _should_ be worrying about is that damn blue light. There’s no such thing as miracles, he’s learned, and anything that looks like one usually gets repaid with a nasty path of destruction. What he _is_ thinking about, instead, is the guy in front of him.

Cas is definitely a little… off. He’s still peering at the wall, like he might figure out whatever was up tonight just by staring at it. He’s quiet; when Dean thanked him, all he did in response was nod. His gait is stiff but steady.

Something about him, though, is stupidly compelling. No point in denying it. Sure, he’s _hot_ , messy dark hair and blue eyes so intense they made Dean take a stagger-step back when he first truly saw them, but it’s way more than his looks. It’s a _connection_ , plain and simple, and Dean doesn’t have enough of those in his life.

Dean knows nothing about the man who saved him other than that he’s set these stupid, giddy sparks through him. Part of being John Winchester’s son is staying razor-edge sharp on the hunt, but Dean got too damn used to that life, until tonight. 

Dean’s been wading through water up to his neck for so long and just now, he crawled out of the ocean onto the shore, letting every breath sear his lungs. All for a stranger. 

It’s the adrenaline talking, he tells himself. Adrenaline, and too many goddamn months on the road. 

“Alright, well. Thanks.” Now he feels like his words are stuck in slow motion. Sure, he should say goodbye, but that makes it too fucking final. Dean had hope stomped out of him a long time ago, but – they move around a lot. They’ll be back to Opelucid some day.

Dean walks up to the door, Vaporeon right behind him. No hotel room should feel like such a relief, but there’s a damn good chance they wouldn’t have made it back here tonight. He can be a little generous in his thoughts.

When he’s halfway in the doorway, though, he turns around. Cas is still looking at him, his Staraptor’s wings beating heavy in the air. Sure, the staring’s kind of creepy, but Dean’s the one who turned around to look too.

A wave wouldn’t do the guy justice. For a second, Dean’s struck by the desire to blow a kiss, but that’s more ridiculous than the thought about running away. Instead, all he does is nod, slowly. 

Cas does the same. If he’s got this small, private, almost sad smile crossing his face, well, Dean certainly gets it. 

All he does, though, is close the door, and lean heavy against it. His heart’s still going stupid fast.

It couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes when Dean hears it, an urgent hiss in the night that calls out “ _Castiel_.” Dean’s heard enough people talk through voice distorters – oh, the benefits of having everyone in your life be a completely paranoid bastard – that he knows this is one of them.

He rushes back to the window, hoping to hear more of the conversation, but there’s only a deep swoosh. It’s a bit like a Flying-type Pokemon taking to the air and flapping away, but much more sudden than that, with none of nature’s messy irregularity. And then, it’s just quiet, with maybe a lone Kricketune crying out, or the trill of a Hoothoot.

Shit, shit, shit.

He’s got no idea how it happens, but Dean lets himself fall asleep. Barely. Vaporeon’s breath stays jittery as long as he can hear it, which means she’s not sleeping either. He’s not sure what time he does drop off into dreamland – not that he really dreams, not tonight, not when his heart’s going _tick tick tick_ blazing fast even in sleep – but when he wakes up to John shaking his shoulder hard and Vaporeon with her paws up on the side of the bed, with a distinct frown on her face, it’s still dark out.

“C’mon, Dean. Think I got a lead on something.” A pause, like John knows what the next words will do to Dean. He must not care that much, in the end, because he goes on anyway. “It’s in Nacrene.” 

There’s nothing wrong with Nacrene. In fact, Dean’s been there enough times to say it’s a perfectly nice city, with its solid granite buildings. That’s just the thing; he’s _been_ there enough times, and he knows he will go there a hundred more times, and his dad will never find what he’s looking for, and his mom will never come back.

In the car, it’s too early for Espeon and Vaporeon to even squabble, so they go right to sleep. Sam, on the other hand, has decided to go into full-on whine mode. “Vaporeon fell asleep too close to me,” he gripes. “Gonna get everything all damp.”

“And Espeon kept _staring_ at me,” Dean hisses right back, trying not to attract John’s attention. Sam gets this goddamn _wounded_ look on his face, so Dean sighs and leans farther back in his chair. “Look, I’m – it was a long night. Vaporeon’s got the right idea.” 

He closes his eyes, blocking out Sam’s strange, piercing look, like he was trying to puzzle out why, exactly, his brother’s in such a bad mood after last night. Good fuckin’ luck guessing. 

Dean wakes up much later, because of course Sam is snoring. They’re still on the highway, zooming by a non-descript route. Right now, Dean’d take one of the awful desert routes that gunk up the car, because at least that’d be something to look at. There’s no sign of a city or town anywhere here, nothing remotely interesting, just another long, long road to another city with no answers for anyone.

*

**_Eight years later_ **

“And then,” Dean’s saying, “And then, I told him that if he wanted to get rid of the Gastlys that were stickin’ around the place, he needed some holy water. Just boil the hell out of it!” 

The joke’s terrible, he’s fully aware. Still, Rufus positively guffaws at it, which is predictable but welcome. Bobby’s not the guffawing type, but a genuine smile works its way across his mouth and into his eyes. 

Talking with Bobby and Rufus is always a hoot in and of itself. Bobby’s got a Growlithe, and that gal’s up there in age like Bobby himself. By now, she’s half-blind, but still tough as hell. She’s got enough training to evolve into an Arcanine for sure, if either she or Bobby wanted it, but everyone in Dean’s life is too stubborn for their own good. She’s usually up there on the Skype screen yapping, while Rufus’ Avalugg appears content to rest in the background. Sometimes Growlithe gets right up on her back and goes skidding across the long, icy surface. 

Bobby and Rufus and their Pokemon are the better part of a day’s boat ride away, now. But when Dean’s got them all on the screen, he can pretend otherwise. 

Bobby meant a lot to him. Guy had been a friend of his father’s forever, even if they hadn’t seen each other much toward the end of things. Rufus joined Bobby later, when Bobby decided muckin’ around in the guts of cars wasn’t doing it for a job any more. Not with his back going out like it was. “Feel like fixing cars means my engineering degree’s being too useful,” was how Bobby put it. 

So Bobby, along with Rufus, started a service blueprinting buildings out of Village Bridge. Dean worked along with them; Bobby could only pay him so much under the table, just enough to keep him afloat, but Rufus called him a _damn genius_ all the time (which Dean never said shit in return to, because he knew Rufus was only humoring him) and Bobby gave him several approving grunts. 

They’re the only two with the same fucked-up sleep schedule as Dean, but it’s because they’re busy. The two of them are modest guys, but there’s a heavy demand for what they do. It’s only half an hour of them shooting the bullshit before Bobby and Rufus have to go. 

Dean’s laughing at something or other when he signs off, until he finds himself staring back at his own reflection as the screen powers down. Ain’t a bad reflection, he knows that. But it is a lonely one, a lot of the time.

Dean was never one for much sleep. He got used to it over the years. His dad used to have them out of the house – or more likely, one of the crappy motels they were staying at, or some stupid log cabin with no hot water or electricity a couple of miles outside the city – by 6:30 on the dot. Vaporeon, who’s got a sleep schedule weirder than Dean’s, can usually sense when he’s awake, and starts pawing at his sheets impatiently.

Even a city as busy as Opelucid is quiet this early in the morning, in these hours where the sky goes wisteria. All the night workers already went home, and the day workers haven’t headed out yet. He’ll see someone every now and then, but almost invariably, the other person ducks their head and rushes the Pokemon beside them along, like they’re embarrassed to be up this early. 

Dean needs some damn human friends. He’s gotta get out of the mentality that he’s still on the road, and any minute now Sam’s gonna to burst through the door of his apartment and tell him they’ve gotta run off to the other side of the continent because he’s got a lead on… whatever the hell dad was ever looking for. That way of thinking’s stuck to him, an obstinate burr that clawed its way under his skin.

Vaporeon is enough, too. He’d never think she isn’t. She gets it, these restless too-early-morning visits to the harbor. Water laps at their feet, stained pink and orange by the sun arcing overhead. Plenty of ships are parked out there, for snooty-ass people Dean would never get along with, but well, he appreciates the view just as much as they do. They both pay the same for it.

Sometimes, though. Sometimes Vaporeon makes the long dive into the water. Dean doesn’t blame her; Vaporeon’s cellular structure is designed for that species to melt right into the water and reform seconds later. 

When she does it, that’s when Dean gets unbearably selfish. She dissolves, and there’s no sign she even exists. Dean feels so goddamn alone.

“Vaporeon,” he finds himself saying today. Now that he’s done talking to Bobby and Rufus, he only feels worse about being all but alone in Opelucid. She pulls herself out of the water, and doesn’t look too pitying at him calling her back. He appreciates it.

Vaporeon curls up by his side, and Dean finds himself looking out across the water, past all the friggin’ yachts that dot the harbor. There’s a long green strip of land far off in the distance, and Dean can’t stop staring at it. Feels like punishment. 

It’s a day’s ride away on a boat. Dean knows, he’s done it. He’s packed up everything and shoved it in his cabin on the ship while he stayed on the deck there, despite the fact that the boat swaying back and forth and made him wanna puke. He just couldn’t go to his cabin and crash, only to wake up and find his home had passed him by entirely and he hadn’t been there to see it. His home, the place Mary Winchester would rest forever.

Dean spent his life on the road, but his heart was always firmly staked in Village Bridge. It’s where he lived for his first ten years, and though he can’t remember much – and what he does seems awash in gold haze, something stupidly precious and too easy to shatter – he remembers _happiness_ , and that’s the thing that sticks to him. 

First there was Mom and Dad and Sam, and the house was bright and boisterous all the time.

Then mom was gone, and the light clicked out.

Most of the noise turned into John coming home drunk or another yelling match between him and Sam. Or the house was empty, because John had shoved Dean and Sam off one of the sketchier Pokemon training facilities, one that wouldn’t look twice at them being way under the legal age to own Pokemon and certainly to battle them.

And then Dad started taking them on the road, what couldn’t have been much more than a year after Mary died. Two young kids and their Pokemon, shoved into tiny cramped rental cars. Dad drove them out a lot, on some half-hatched plan to catch whoever _did this_ to Mary.

“She died in an accident,” Sam had said once. The furious, almost manic glare John had shot him in return had made certain neither Sam nor Dean ever brought that fact up again. 

Dean’s been all over the region. He hiked up Aspertia City’s lookout, even though he fucking hated hiking, and saw practically all of Unova spread out before him in pine green and shimmering blue and sandy tan, and thought how he’d give it all up to have his mom at his side instead. He got seasick in Humilau after bobbing up and down on the dock walkways through the city, and John called him a wuss for it while Vaporeon cast sad eyes on Dean and tried her best to stroke his back with her tail; Sam just grimaced, though it was in the realm of sympathy, while Dad made him blast away the city’s Tentacruel with his Espeon.

Dean’s squatted in an abandoned ranch just outside Floccesy for a couple of weeks, not fucking pleasant between the wood rot, Vaporeon fighting off constant swarms of Weedles in the barn, and Sam and Dad’s screaming fights outside. He was bored as hell on some endless train ride through Anville Town, and when Dad tried to sign Sam and Dean up with some of the trainers who ran those trains, both Vaporeon and Espeon got their asses kicked and it led to a very chilly train ride back home. 

And yeah, he remembers Sam bolting while they were in Nimbasa. John found him later that night at the ever-present carnival, chowing down on some cotton candy he stole. Dean got told to stay in the hotel room that night, so he never knew what John said to Sam, but it was only a couple of months later that Dean found the application to Carver University over in Goldenrod. Dean had done a lot of stupid, stupid shit for his dad, but he was loyal to Sam, too, even if it broke Dean’s damn heart to see it, what he could never do. So he kept quiet.

Sam was gone, then, all too suddenly. Not gone like mom, but gone where it scooped another hollow out of their family, ripping the foundations from the house at Village Bridge.

Then dad was gone. Really gone.

Then it was only Dean and Vaporeon, trying and failing to fill that entire house. The six of them, the four Winchesters and John and Mary’s Pokemon, Zebstrika’s plodding hooves and Leafeon’s softer tread, used to sound like a Thunder attack coming down the stairs. Dean might have only been ten years old when it ended, but he’ll never forget that blissfully happy cacophony. It became nothing but the empty clunk of Dean’s own boots and Vaporeon’s nearly silent padding alongside him. 

Not much was keeping him tied to Village Bridge, other than the house itself. There was Gordon’s training center, but Dean and Gordon weren’t really friends. The guy only really talked to, rather than ordered, his suspiciously close friend Kubrick and his sister Erika. Dean had gotten a terse text or two from Gordon, letting him know his presence at the training center had been appreciated, but those fell off after a bit.

“Opelucid?” the librarian, whose name tag read _Haley_ , asked him when he showed up to research where to move. They didn’t exactly have travel guides lying around at home.

Haley was cute, with dark hair and an intense look in her eyes even now while her nose was scrunched up. Her Sandshrew that knew the decimal system better than anyone short of her, too. “Nothing there but that city’s Dragon obsession and Shopping Mall Nine. And some really awful people, apparently.” She pushed a newspaper across the desk at him.

That settled it, because the man who tried to kidnap him, or worse, outside Shopping Mall Nine grinned back at him. He was even more angular, a couple of teeth missing, but it was definitely him. _Notorious Pokemon Fighter Apprehended,_ the headline declared. 

“My god,” Dean breathed, eyes fixed on the headline.

“Yeah. This Alastair Sid guy was running a _cage match_ between humans and Pokemon at his training center. Place was called The Hellscape. Little too on the nose, right? _Don’t_ open to page 5, there are pictures.” Haley balanced her Sandshrew against her side, carefully.

“There any other news from Opelucid? Anything involving a guy named, uh – Castiel?”

“No,” Haley said, shooting Dean a pointed look. “Though I don’t think I’d remember news I heard about some random guy, weird name aside.” 

Throughout his life, Dean had learned no news wasn’t necessarily good news. But Alastair on the front page of the newspaper, that same sick gleam in his eyes, seemed like a sign. 

When he was on the way out of the library, he ran into Haley again; she was behind the circulation desk now, rubbing lotion into her Sandshrew’s cracking belly. Even out of the desert, they were always dry. “You find what you were looking for?” she asked.

“Not sure,” Dean answered, but he was smiling anyway.

Opelucid’s a nice city. He grew up on the road, but settling down is in Dean’s bones, and it’s fit him. It’s quirky, because half of it is hundreds of years old, many of the buildings originals from when humans and Pokemon first settled the land, and the other half has been taken over by modern labs and training centers. Cobblestones, worn down under the feet of generations of people trodding across them, give way to strips of black streets with soft lights flashing along the sides to illuminate them at night. It’s a gorgeous sight, and Vaporeon always gets a kick out of jumping after the blinking lights. Opelucid’s fine. Dean just expected different. 

He knows exactly what he expected, but he forces the thought out of his mind every time it pops up, unbidden.

Now, though, it’s another weekend, and Dean only got out of bed to get sorta presentable for absolutely no one in particular. Vaporeon’s in the big tub he dragged out to the living room, eyeing him. Dean’s pretty sure she’s fucking bored, too. 

He’s seriously contemplating how much shit Bobby and Rufus would give him for asking if he could work with them on the weekends, when there’s a knock on his door.

At first, Dean doesn’t want to answer it. He knows he’s a social guy, he knows how to lay on the slick charm and make a real connection alike, but it’s all been leeched out of him. People leave you, for good, or you have to leave them. It’s just not worth it. 

Hell, Dean’s been trying to smile at the big burly dude in the fancy suit who lives on the top floor above him – yeah, the guy owns the _entire_ floor – and in return, all he gets are glowers strong enough to make Dean forget all about ever smiling. The guy’s Skarmory gave Vaporeon something like a sympathetic look, or as sympathetic as a Skarmory could look with a chrome metal face, as she glided out of the elevator, but it was too late by then. Friends beyond Vaporeon were just for other people, Dean supposed.

But then. “This is the Opelucid police,” the voice at the door announces, a booming voice full of all the intimidation that statement warrants. “We’d like to talk to you.”

Well, shit. Dean mentally starts reviewing his entire goddamn childhood from ten years old on, because it’s more or less a parade of minor crimes: breaking and entering, theft, illegal battling, all of it. When he was nineteen or so, he’d gotten nabbed stealing a couple of Casteliacones, so he’s familiar with the uninviting stone walls and narrow, uncomfortable beds of prison cells. 

Dean figures _what the hell_ anyway and opens the door. The guy behind it is hot as hell, with full lips and neat facial hair. Not really an appropriate time, but Dean’s never been great with timing anyway. The cop’s Mienshao gives off just as much of an authoritative air as he does, despite the placid-to-the-point-of-boredom look on her face. Her ribbon-like arms flap in a non-existent breeze.

“Dean Winchester?” 

“Uh, yeah.” Dean doesn’t think about either Hi Jump Kicks from the Mienshao to the face, _or_ this cop’s beard burn all over his body. 

“I’m Victor.” The guy’s handshake is warm and firm, naturally. “You were a hard one to find.” 

Dean’s got no idea if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but he has to _ask_. “For what?” 

Victor reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a blank envelope. It’s scuffed and doesn’t look new, the middle of it bulging out. “We’ve had this sitting around the station for a while. Supposed to be for the next-of-kin. That’s you and your brother. Sam, I believe?”

“Yeah.” That’s all Dean allows himself to say for now. Anything else would dredge up the entire goddamn world.

“Well, from what we understand he’s at school in Johto right now, and he’d be under Johto’s police jurisdiction –” Dean doesn’t know which is worse, if Victor’s lying and can’t get in touch with him either, or if he’s telling the truth and it’s that easy for a stranger to get on the phone to Sam when Dean hasn’t talked to his own brother in a year – “So we can give this to you.” 

When Victor hands him the envelope, Dean almost drops it; damn, the thing is _heavy_. Whatever’s causing the distortion in the middle is much denser than it looks. 

“You wanna take it?” 

Not really, Dean thinks, but then again, like most things that John Winchester made him do, he doesn’t have much of an option here. “Thanks,” he says, still staring at the envelope. 

Victor offers him something of a smile. “It’s been checked for anything potentially dangerous, any traps or powders. It came out clean,” he says. The guy might be a cop, but he’s friendly, too. “You let us know if you have any problems.”

 _Buddy, you don’t know the half of it._ But all Dean manages to grunt out is a “thanks again” before Victor’s out the door. Mienshao gives him a look, too, before she disappears, and yep, her eyebrow is definitely lifted a bit. 

There’s a long moment where Dean, Vaporeon trotting alongside him, crosses the length of the apartment one, two, three times. He’s thinking about forgetting the envelope, at least for the day, and getting blotto drunk. 

In the end, though, Dean recognizes that won’t solve shit. He pours himself _one_ glass of whiskey, and it’s generous but it’s just one. He sits at his kitchen table, while Vaporeon jumps up on the chair opposite him. She’s real good at telling when he needs moral support. Carefully, he places the envelope down on the table, and then he fuckin’ _stares_ at the thing.

“What do we do?” he asks Vaporeon, putting a finger on the envelope.

“Vayyyyy,” is her only response. Her advice is never all that helpful, but he loves her anyway.

There was a time, maybe fifteen years ago, when John had them stationed in Mistralton for a couple of weeks and instead of him taking them to the awful airplane hangar, he took them to just-as-awful Celestial Tower instead. John had some kind of _important business_ on the roof, he told Dean. What he was doing, Dean can’t imagine; the only thing on the roof of Celestial Tower was the ever-present ring of clouds and creepy fog and the old-ass rusty bell. Point is, John left him and Sam alone by the foot of the stairs that spiraled up.

Sam spent most of the few hours John was gone crying. Dean’s sure he wasn’t even ten years old yet. Dean normally would have given him shit for that for _months_ , but he didn’t, not then. He got it. 

As for Dean, all he did was gaze into the darkness, him and Vaporeon on Braviary levels of alert. This high up in the tower, the only people trudging around were a couple of mediums accompanied by older ex-trainers, either outright sobbing or looking way too stoic. 

Other people passing by wasn’t that common, though, so it was mostly just the two of them stuck together. Even if he knew those stories were bullshit, Dean kept expecting the worst Drifloon or Haunter myths to come true, and him and Sam would vanish.

The stories didn’t come true, of course. Dean found himself wondering if they were ever true, or if they were something the shitty parents of lonely kids lost to them a long time ago told themselves in order to feel better. 

As for John, the roof of Celestial Tower had no more answers than anywhere else did, and he dragged them off to another too-long flight from Mistralton not long after that. But Dean still remembers those few hours he spent in the dark, one arm around Vaporeon and the other around Sammy, staring stock forward on guard. That’s how alert he is now, still staring at the damn letter.

Fuck it. Maybe there’s an apology somewhere in the letter. Or even better, maybe there’s a reason for everything that happened. Dean opens the envelope.

When Dean unfolds the letter, he damns the fact that his fingers are shaky, but they shouldn’t have been. There isn’t much on the paper; in fact, it’s only seven words. 

The top reads _This is your legacy –_ and the bottom has a street number and name. Unfolding the letter reveals a key that falls on the table with a hard clunk.

Dean reads those words and wants to vomit. He wants to take the note, crumple it up, throw it and whatever else is in this envelope in the garbage and forget it forever. He’ll toss the key into the dumpster and forget about it. He’s got no goddamn _legacy_ , and the dash at the end, like the idea that something out there is _unfinished_ , mocks him. Shit is _done_. Gone and over with and _done_. Like his family. It’s a mockery.

Dean’s white-hot rage and regret and embarrassment and worst of all, the fucking _sadness_ – they’re making him not pay so much attention to the street address, but he recognizes the name. It’s at the very edges of town, where the apartments start turning into actual townhouses of very varying quality. There are shiny pretty things carved from what must be marble; there are crappy wood hovels that seem pieced together with spit, some scattered Bellsprout vines, and a couple of prayers to Arceus. 

He doesn’t know what to expect. He doesn’t even know why he goes, really. He just knows that his apartment is too fucking small right now, like the whole thing could get folded too neatly into the envelope if he stays sitting there with Vaporeon too long. That’s how he finds himself wandering through the streets, going not to the pier but the edge of town, with the address in the letter.

Just another stupid order from John that he followed. Dean’s too fucking keenly aware he sucks at being rational when it comes to family.

He actually walks by the building the first couple of passes around the block, even though it’s huge. Standing out among all the houses is a big-ass warehouse, the cheap sheet metal of it rattling dangerously whenever the breeze picks up.

Vaporeon’s eyeing it warily. “Breee?” she offers. 

“I know,” he says. “It ain’t fancy shit or falling apart, at least. Best of both worlds.” 

Still, when he pushes open the door, his shoulders are absolutely wracked. He always held tension there.

Inside is still and sterile, the walls painted white. All sounds are cotton-muffled in here, muting the clacking of the building every time the wind picks up. The place is full of enormous sliding doors, held in place by locks, along the walls. 

“Heya!” a voice cries out, echoing through the space. It’s a blonde woman, another damn cop, but this one is all smiles. Dean finds himself stiffening up anyway, and he knows Vaporeon’s carefully slinking behind him. Neither of them have very good experiences with cops, mostly just a lot of running until their legs burned. “You here to open up one of the storage lockers?” 

The floor in this place – a warehouse full of goddamn storage lockers, apparently – is that kind of aggressively over-smoothed stone that’s too hard and unyielding just walking on it. John’s big message to him was a _storage locker_. Thing is probably chock full of shit that’s going to make him _remember_ , and he doesn’t know if he would prefer to think of the good times or the bad.

Distantly, he finds himself saying, “Yeah, I am.” 

“I gotcha.” The woman’s accompanied by a Wigglytuff, who follows her out from behind the desk. Normally, Dean would be able to smile at his humongous bouncing hop-steps, but not now when the ache curdles deep in his gut. “Ya alright?” 

Fuck, he’s that obvious. Even Wigglytuff has a big exaggerated frown on his face as he pretty much helplessly pokes at Vaporeon with one of his tiny arms. “Fine,” he insists, plastering a smile across his face. “Just need some help figuring this storage locker thing out.” 

She keeps offering him these odd, peering glances, but thank God she doesn’t actually ask anything else, just takes one look at his key and briskly walks over to be the biggest storage locker of them all. 

“No one’s touched this one in years,” she says, the accent bleeding through on _years_ and stretching the word out. “You can tell it’s one of the more deluxe lockers we offer.” 

In the cool silence of the warehouse, the door looks like something from another planet. It’s worn and shiny wood with four Pokemon carved on it, three of them stretched out mid-leap and forming a circle. They’ve all got the same basic four-legged ungulate build, but other than that their features are way different. One’s all graceful swooping lines, another jagged spikes, another squat rock. The fourth one, in the middle of the ring that the other three make, almost looks like a kid’s toy with its diminutive size, big googly eyes, and fluffy tail, except for the enormous tiered horn that erupts from its forehead and sticks up like an arrow pointing to the keyhole.

The swords of justice: Virizion, Cobalion, Terrakion, and the tiny Keldeo. Long ago, so the legends say, humans all but destroyed Unova in a bloody war. Keldeo was one of the casualties. Virizion, Cobalion, and Terrakion all saved Keldeo and wiped out the violent humans, leaving way for them to serve as guardians for the peaceful survivors. As the story says at the end, now they lie waiting to quell the next great war.

Dean takes a while to admire the hard work behind the carving, running his fingers over the grooves in the wood that capture the differences between the four Pokemon so very well. But after a while, all he can concentrate on is the lock, placed right on top of Keldeo’s enormous horn like it’s holding the lock aloft. It’s practically screaming at him.

“Damn sight to see, right? It’d belong perfectly down at the station.” Police stations and firehouses are full of paintings and statues of the Swords of Justice; they’re Unova’s legendary protectors, after all. “You got it?” The woman – this close, Dean can see her name tag reading _DONNA_ – jolts him out of his stupid thoughts. He just nods, too fast, and though she gives him another one of her sidelong looks, she lets him walk up to the door. 

He puts the key in the lock. It fits perfectly. 

Even now that he can’t get any closer, Dean thinks about running away. Throwing the key into the harbor the next time he goes out there and forgetting about the entire goddamn thing. But – that would be stupid. More than that, it would be cowardly. 

His dad never told him to be brave; he just shoved him right into the fire. It was Mary who told him to be brave, who took his hand and sat by his side while he pet John’s Zebstrika despite the shocks of static electricity crackling up and down his arm.

When he opens the door, he has to blink against the darkness. Everything inside is dimly lit. And there sure is a lot of _everything_.

The storage room is full of bookshelves and storage cabinets with their drawers jammed open and at least one portable closet. Everywhere Dean looks, there’s _stuff_. Pokemon kibble, probably completely inedible at this point, spills all over the floor. It’s next to a sorta valuable-looking chainlink necklace and a couple of the seemingly hundreds of little figurines strewn across the storage unit.

That’s what stands out to Dean. There are figurines everywhere. It’s like a spoiled kid’s room, but they’re made of every material, including some damn pointy metal spikes that no parent would allow their child to play with. He bends down to pick the two closest figurines up, and finds himself marveling at the woodwork. It’s made of the same wood, but one’s been chipped at until it’s rough enough to almost hurt his fingers and the other is smooth, like a branch left in a rushing stream.

“Groudon and Kyogre?” Donna says, and Dean jolts. “That’s some impressive work on ‘em. Bet there’s a matching Rayquaza around here too. Got every other legendary, right?”

She _is_ right. Dean realizes that almost all the _stuff_ in the storage unit consists of figurines depicting legendary Pokemon. He picks up a silver and white stone Kyurem, and it’s creepily light, hollow on the inside. There’s an enormous Arceus peering down at the mess on the floor, and – Dean thinks he needs to get a grip, he’s seen and _lived through_ way worse, the carving isn’t going to rain down the end of the world on his head.

Vaporeon’s gazing up at him, totally enrapt and waiting for what he’s gonna do next. 

“I know,” Dean murmurs, hoping Donna and her Wigglytuff aren’t listening too closely. “Problem is, I got no idea.” He keeps picking his way through the absolute mess, though, looking for the jackpot he’s stupidly hoping for. 

He’s not expecting shit, though. That’s what John Winchester would do. Say _his legacy_ , their legacy, is a bunch of junk that John tossed in a dusty old storage unit when it gave him no answers to whatever goddamn question he was asking. 

So Dean doesn’t think of John. He picks up a Virizion figurine, the colors on it still bright green and pink and pure cream despite the considerable layer of dust, and thinks about Mary. She was always fond of Virizion; there was a little figurine of it on their lawn growing up, cheap plastic and rickety enough to tip over in anything stronger than a light breeze.

“Grass types,” she’d say, laughing when Leafeon batted at the figure with a paw only to knock it over. It figures, Dean thinks, so bitter it makes his mouth taste metallic on the inside, that it all went up in flames. 

An old, worn notebook lies on one of the shelves. Takes Dean too long to notice it, but in his defense, it’s sitting under a Zygarde figurine that hasn’t lost any of its neon green, onyx, and silver luster. He recognizes the notebook because John was always scribbling something or other in it. 

There’s nothing else personal in the storage locker. It’s goddamn eerie. There isn’t a single picture of him or Sammy, and Dean’s not surprised by that, even if it cuts a sharp wound into him. That there’s no sign of Mom is stranger; Dean’s only got one photo of Mary, and he carries it in his wallet even though he’s had to tape it together three times. 

The Jirachi figurines are the closest sign of Mary. Even though they’re closely connected to Hoenn’s myths, not Unova’s, Jirachi is the most common figurine in the storage locker. Most of the little papers attached to their tiny hats are torn off, and they’ve probably been gone a long time. Dean gets it. Jirachi, the legends say, woke up every thousand years for a week and granted you any wish you wanted. All Dean would have asked for was his mom alive and his family together, and he knows Dad couldn’t even get angry at him for that either.

That’s what passes for _personal_ here, with John Winchester. Chipped and ruined figurines of a Pokemon hardly anyone believes in on their continent, all in some misguided attempt to do something that Dean doesn’t know. Get Mom back, maybe. Thing is, if that’s what Dad was trying to do, well, that’s one thing Dean can’t blame him for.

“Gotta look at Dad’s journal, right?” Dean asks Vaporeon, the family member he _does_ have. She swishes her tail in approval. He carefully moves aside the Zygarde statue – fucker’s heavy, definitely made of metal – and opens the book.

It’s definitely not what it was expecting.

In John’s oddly immaculate handwriting, there’s nothing but long, long lists, divided neatly into columns. _Object, Date Acquired, Location, Price_. Most of the columns don’t tell him anything he didn’t already know. John bought a lot of crap throughout the years, while dragging his kids with him across the Unova continent, and none of it proved too useful. 

But the _Price_ column. Dean looks at it and he could weep. There are three and four digits on most of those items. A couple of them have five. And the listing goes on and on; Dean keeps turning pages. He wants to be angry about this, because he and Sam lived their lives in fraying clothes and ate the cheapest shit at the crappiest diners, but it’s a fucking gold-plated opportunity now. 

The money he’ll get from this is not going to make Dean a millionaire, and he’s not going to be set for life either. What it’s going to do, though, is give him the money for something he _wants_ to do. He just needs to figure out what the fuck that could possibly be. Wanting’s an all but foreign emotion to him. 

Dean got ten years with his mom. Ten amazing years that he’s still holding on to. It was Mom and Dad and Sam, and he loves them all, but it’s mostly Mom he remembers, Mom that he _clings_ to remembering. Leafeon were very powerful Pokemon, and Mary’s in particular had a whole shelf of trophies and droopy ribbons from tournaments decades in the past, but by the time Sam and Dean came around, Mary’s Leafeon was a docile creature who spent most of his time napping in sunspots on the lawn. Sam and Dean were usually able to poke Zebstrika into a good mood, too. 

Other Pokemon were always around, too, because Mary had taken it upon herself to take care of Pokemon who had spent years battling. There were strict rules about serious injuries in Pokemon battles, and the last time Dean checked there hadn’t been a recorded fatality in battle in over three years, but years of battling still took their toll on Pokemon and left them haggard. 

They had a big backyard for the Pokemon to run around in. Dean remembers the ridiculous poses the family used to put themselves in: Sam with an Emolga on his head and Dean with a couple of cooing Chatots, or Dean pretending to shove Sam toward a Krookodile who was mugging it up for the camera by opening her huge jaws. What stood out in all those photos was how much everyone, from Dean himself to Dad to the Pokemon, smiled. 

Vaporeon’s currently staring up at him, head quirked while she tries to figure out what the book Dean’s reading means. He smiles at her and asks, “What do you think about working at a nursery, with other Pokemon?” He knows Vaporeon came from the best breeder in Village Bridge, because John had an in with them through Mary. As an Eevee, she grew up with twelve brothers and sisters, including the Eevee that became Sam’s Espeon too. 

“Breeeee,” she responds, her eyes huge. She always has the best advice. 

He waits five days from when he e-mails Sam. Doesn’t even bother to call, because every time it says Sam’s phone is _disconnected_ in a neutral, tinny robotic voice. The e-mails bounce back, and there’s something wrong with that, but Dean still waits for some sign from Sam, somehow. It doesn’t come. He shouldn’t be surprised by now.

Over the next couple of weeks, Dean sells off most of the artifacts in the storage closet. He keeps finding trinkets, and fills up whole bags with figurines of every legendary. He doesn’t want the shopkeepers getting suspicious, so he takes them all over Opelucid, at least until one sorta fateful day when Dean walks into Frank’s shop.

“Was waiting for you to get back,” Frank says. Dean pauses at that; Frank is not a friendly guy, his Ferrothorn sequestered behind the desk of his curiosity shop. “I can give you this for whatever left of the lot that you want to give me.” 

It’s more money than Dean’s seen in his life. He knows there were jewels embedded into some of the figurines, and he didn’t miss the way Frank’s eyes roved over those jewels. Dean wouldn’t be surprised if he pried them out, and threw the rest of the figurines in the trash.

But because Dean kept the Virizion statue for his mom, and that’s the only one he needs, he finds himself saying, “This works.”

When he’s got more cash than he knows what to do with, that’s when he hops on one of the shuttle buses to Shopping Mall Nine. Along the ride, he keeps an eye out for the little pool outside the mall, but he doesn’t see it. There’s nothing to be disappointed about, he tells himself.

Even though it’s a weekday, there are still a decent number of people milling around the mall. He was expecting either eerie quiet or a teeming mass that would send him right back into the shuttle, their Seismitoad logo on the side beatifically smiling at his total failure to act like a normal adult. Standing on the ground floor’s like the time in third grade his teacher brought his class to the ocean so they could see a trainer with a Wailord, and at the sight of it, all Dean could do was look up and up and up, awestruck.

Okay. He’s going to spend a fortune, but maybe this won’t be so awful. 

In every shop, there are groups of bored-looking salespeople huddled together, or tapping their fingers against the counter. Most of them are teenagers, and Dean doesn’t think about how that never could have been him. 

There are a couple of stores, the one most definitely not staffed by teens, where Dean’s pretty sure the staff behind the counter could sniff out that he doesn’t even have the money to be _looking_ at the merch, even with his bounty of figurines. Instead, Dean lets himself smile at the couple of Persian and Furfrou, all trussed up in Debutante and Dandy and La Reine trim, that are roaming around in the high-end shops. Their grooming is ridiculous, but they look about as bored as he would be in there.

In some of the electronics stores, the salespeople are accompanied by Rotom, whirring around the room in the form of a fan or stuck firmly to the ground in refrigerator form. When he was a kid, Dean always thought he’d get a Rotom, if only because they were always associated with machinery. But that makes him think of Mary getting him a Rotom toy, and how they’d wind up the lawnmower version by rolling it backwards, then letting it topple forward – 

He stops looking at the Rotom in the shop. After all, whatever form they were in, they never lost the creepy empty ghost eyes. And Dean’s had enough of ghosts that seem to follow him everywhere, anyway.

When he’s done, he makes one last stop in a particular store, tucked off to the side of the mall and nondescript enough that any little kids that ran by would find it too boring to care. “Stay,” he tells Vaporeon, pointing to the floor in front of the shop.

Vaporeon gives him a weird look, but doesn’t argue. Dean can feel embarrassment heating up his cheeks, but it’s not nearly as bad as it would be if she actually went in there with him. Judging by the other Pokemon milling by the entrance to the store, none of their owners present at the moment, at least he’s not alone. 

He’s right, because no Pokemon are actually in this particular store. There sure are some really horrifying displays involving them that he never wanted to think about existing, though; it’s gonna take him a while before he can look at an actual Machamp or Lopunny again, and there’s a booth in the back with a curtain drawn over it promoting simulations of Magnemite jolts and Ivysaur Vine Whips, though Dean’s not going anywhere near there.

The entire damn mall costs a fortune, Dean swears, but he ends up buying one of the cheapest items in there, a little rounded bulb, and a sachet of lube. To living on his own, right? 

Everyone in there is way too friendly to him. Not just the salespeople, either, but he gets a lot of big doe eyes and pointed glances alike from plenty of customers. He’ll take it as the compliment it is, and ignore the disappointment whenever the eyes that meet his aren’t shockingly blue. Stupid to pine over someone he met once, almost a decade ago, and who he never exchanged more than a handful of words with anyway. The location is making him think of it. That’s all.

That night, he carefully maneuvers Vaporeon out of his room. He feels bad making her stay out, and she gives him the same puzzled look she did outside the store, but there are definitely some things Pokemon should not be present for. 

An hour later, he can say it definitively: oh hell yes, this thing was worth every penny. He’s still flexing his legs, hoping to get the cramps out and get some feeling back in his feet. Mostly, though, he’s been embraced by delicious bliss, blue eyes flickering into and out of his mind’s eye. 

Once he pulls some clothes back on and lets Vaporeon back into his room – she crawls onto his bed and tucks herself under his arm, probably concerned about his strange behavior that day, _not_ that he’s explaining himself – he finds his firm resolve. His life is about more than his shitty childhood. It’s about more than a night he can’t shake out of his head. It’s starting now.

*

It’s impossible to live in Opelucid City and not know Edlund University. The place is as much of an institution here as the official Pokemon League gym, but Dean lives much closer to the college so he’s far more familiar with it. The campus is huge, sprawling its way over both the modern and older parts of the city. 

Dean doesn’t like colleges. They remind him of everything his life doesn’t have. Never had, in some cases. He hustles past the campus when he walks by.

But today, Dean’s actually headed there on purpose. Edlund’s not particularly prestigious – certainly not like Carver, with its sunny gold and yellow buildings and huge labs – but it’s a big school, and those have resources. Resources like the only Pokemon nursery in the whole city.

“I was told to speak to Jody?” he asks the girl sitting at the front desk when he arrives at the nursery. She snaps her gum at him, and only flicks her eyes toward him for a second before returning them right to the computer. Her Zorua, snuggling against the warmth of the computer, cracks one eye open to look at the newcomer, then goes back to sleep. “I’m Dean Winchester, this is about –”

“The job,” another woman says, poking her head through the now-open door to the right of the receptionist’s desk. “Hi. I’m Jody Mills. Nursery Manager.” 

She has brown and white plaid on, which makes Dean like her immediately. He would’ve worn plaid himself, if he wasn’t trying to look something approximating professional. 

Dean follows her through the door, and she leads him up to her office. He doesn’t get a very good look at the floor of the nursery, but it reminds him of a barn. Her office, and a couple of others, is set up up a platform of stairs, with a decent vantage point over the entire span of the place. 

“Whoops, c’mon,” she mutters, helping her Grotle make his way up the stairs to the office. “These stairs are hell on him.” 

She’s trying to scoop under his belly so she can lift him this way, but all it leads to is her making some completely awkward movements, while Grotle shuffles up the stairs at his own pace. She looks absurd. 

Dean’s outright enchanted. 

Jody’s office, once they all finally get up there, is decorated with photos of what must be her family. Her husband’s handsome, and her tiny kid’s grinning wildly in every picture despite the missing teeth. In one picture, Jody’s holding up one of her Grotle’s stubby front legs while he snoozes behind a checkered finish line; her husband’s bolting toward them, trailing what must be his Grovyle, a shocked but delighted look on his face.

“Don’t mind the embarrassing sentimentality,” Jody says cheerily, at the sight of Dean looking at her photos. “And don’t mind him.” She gestures at Grotle, who’s slumbering in a corner of her office, solid and immobile as a very large paperweight.

Dean shrugs. The rest of her office is a mess, which only endears her to Dean more. Papers are strewn across her desk, and there’s a slight layer of dust across a couple of them. It’s a good sign that she’s probably out there on the nursery floor more than in this stuffy little office. 

There’s only one tiny window on Jody’s office door. That window, though, offers a perfect view of a pen full of baby Cubone. They totter around, not quite able to stand up with their heavy skull heads and thick clubs yet. 

Dean wants to say _screw the interview_ and run right out the door to give those poor motherless guys a hug, but then again, he’s pretty sure that isn’t exactly good protocol in a job interview. He stays tight in his seat. 

Jody plucks a stack of folders off a chair, then sits down on it rather promptly. “Not that I’m _biased_ or anything, but I think the nursery is one of the best things Edlund offers. Don’t get a lot of people looking for employment here, though. Young lady out front, Delta, she came a couple of months ago, and that’s been it. Why are you interested in working here?”

Dean’s tempted to spill out his entire life story, messy and hours-long, but all he says is, “My family.” Explains a lot, really. 

In the end, Jody takes down his name, number, and some other miscellaneous information. She gives him a tight-lipped smile. 

“We’ll be in touch,” she says, her tone soft. Dean can’t help but think it’s because she’s letting him down easy.

By the time he’s gotten home, Dean’s working on making himself forget the visit to the nursery. Yeah, they might be looking for volunteers, but they’re definitely not looking for someone who would walk into an interview wearing _denim_ and all tatted up. Jody wasn’t exactly the stereotypical nurturing type, but there were all those photos of her family hung up in her office, the only things in there that were meticulously maintained. More than one person’s described Dean as rough-and-tumble; he’s pretty sure those types don’t work at Pokemon nurseries. 

He wonders about the type of people who stay up way too late – Dean’s sleep schedule is fucked anyway, he figures, cheerfully relishing the excuse – just to chop up Vaporeon’s weird, stinky seaweed treats. Or the type of people who end up playing fetch with her, even while it’s ink-black outside and the only noise Dean can hear are Vaporeon’s paws squeaking across the floor and their combined laughter. He wonders if those kind of people belong, but he’s been judged enough times to know that _he_ doesn’t.

It’s probably for the best if the nursery turns him down. He wants to think he could be like Mary, and Sam turned out alright for a dweeb giant, but he always thought of Sam as a lot more well-adjusted than he ever was. John likely messed him up when it comes to taking care of almost anything. He’s got Vaporeon, and somehow he didn’t manage to screw her up, and he’ll care fiercely for her. That’s all he needs.

Which is why he’s so surprised that a phone call wakes him up that Saturday. “It’s Jody,” the voice on the other end of the line says, and Dean goes from three-quarters asleep to lightning-bolt awake.

“Hey Jody.” He still needs a coffee shower, but there’s no morning roughness to his voice, at least.

“Checked your information with the university. Sorry it took a couple of days, you know how it’s been with technology lately.” The news stations keep reporting flocks of Murkrow raging havoc on the phone lines; Dean doesn’t really believe it, but it’s probably his paranoia talking. “Looks like you’re good to go. Can you come in at noon tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, shooting Vaporeon a thumbs-up. He’s stunned that background check went through. Bobby and Rufus had fixed him up something like a resume that had something listed under his skills beyond just B&E, but he didn’t think it would actually pass muster anywhere. He owes the two of them some nice whiskey.

“We’ll talk scheduling there and I can show you around.”

“Sounds great.”

Dean doesn’t even realize the call’s ended; he hangs onto the phone for a few beats after. He looks at Vaporeon, whose tail happily wags back and forth, even before Dean’s told her the good news. “What the hell, right?” he says. He’s smiling all the way.

*

Dean walks into Edlund Nursery the next day, and is greeted by nothing less than an absolute cacophony, the noise caught somewhere between sobbing and screaming. 

He was expecting this, but he’s still wincing. Hard to forget the distinct, ear-piercing cries from when Mary took care of Pokemon in their backyard. Most of these Pokemon probably ended up here because their parents abandoned them or were otherwise taken away. They’re only babies, the majority of them unable to say their names yet, but they can sure as hell cry all the time. 

Even though Dean saw them at the interview, Dean’s not surprised at just how many rows of stalls there are for Cubone. He always liked the little guys. 

Jody rushes up to him, already juggling a big fat Bidoof in her arms. She grimaces in apology as she shuffles the enormous chunky baby to one arm in order to shake Dean’s hand. 

“Sorry about this,” she says. “You caught ‘em in a cranky mood.” Another chorus of wails goes up. “So it’s a little more than cranky. You get used to it. C’mon.” 

She leads Dean up the stairs at the front of the nursery, which has an enormous barn-like structure with many enclosures, to another office. This one, in contrast to Jody’s, is almost utterly sparse, the walls painted sky blue. A pretty woman with dark hair doesn’t look up from the computer when they walk in. Her desk has five phones placed across it, the only bit of mess in the office, their cords twisted together. 

“Meet my co-manager, Tessa,” Jody introduces. “She takes care of the finances, and shit like that – I mean, _poop_ like that.”

“You have a six-year-old,” Tessa responds, but she’s smiling warmly all the way through it. She finally turns around in her chair, finally, to face Dean and Jody. “What Jody means is that she gets to have all the fun out there, while I sit in this office all day and make _interminable_ calls to Edlund’s donors.” Again, her words would sound bitter in a different tone, but they just sound good-humored here.

“They’re awful,” Jody guffaws.

“I know they didn’t want me here,” Tessa says, as her Pokemon, an Absol, crawls his way out from under the desk. There’s a challenge in her eyes while she says it; Dean’s pretty sure she’s daring him to mention Absol as the reason she isn’t wanted. 

It’s bullshit, but unfortunately, she’s probably right. It’s a myth that Absol brings bad juju, when really, they’re the ones who come to _warn_ others about the bad juju. Rich assholes who donate money just to see their name on a college building are exactly the type to clutch pearls and squawk about how they wouldn’t want an Absol near baby Pokemon. 

Absol didn’t start making a fuss over Dean’s presence, though; Dean chooses to accept that as a good sign. He hasn’t had many.

“She’s still kicking ass,” Jody says, proudly. “C’mon, we’ll introduce you to the rest of the staff.”

The first co-worker Dean meets isn’t nearly as intimidating as Jody or Tessa. She’s a redhead about his age, but dressed way younger than that, sporting Converse, a tiny backpack, and a highlighter-yellow t-shirt that reads _Females are strong as hell!_ in loopy script across the front. Above all, though, she’s wearing a big grin. She gives him a firm, enthusiastic handshake, but Dean can just _tell_ she’d rather greet him with a hug.

“Charlie,” she introduces herself. Even her voice sounds like there’s an exclamation point stuck in there. 

“Dean.” 

At Dean’s voice, a Vulpix winds his way out from behind her. As shy as his owner is, well, not, he blinks up at Dean. Charlie picks up her Vulpix to cradle him, tickling his belly until his legs kick out in glee.

Normally, Dean would run away screaming from anyone this cheery. But he can tell from his own life, run through with bullshit, that nothing about this girl is fake. 

Charlie sets Vulpix down after a few moments, and he gallops off to butt heads butting heads with Vaporeon. She’s cautious not to spray any water on Vulpix, and it makes Dean grin to see it. “Why don’t you show me the ropes?” he asks. Jody and Tessa have already wandered off to other duties. 

“Sounds fantastic.” 

They head off together, Dean following Charlie down the rows in between the enclosures. They’re twisty like a maze, and he’d easily lose his way if not for her. They pass the early afternoon swaddling some Scraggy; their skin folds constantly sag, making it impossible for them to walk, but their fingers aren’t developed enough to pull the folds up. Together, they corral all of them, and for the time being, the Scraggy can get along fine.

“And we didn’t even have to shovel any poop,” Charlie declares triumphantly. Dean grins back at her. He thought maybe she’d be a slacker, the type that slides by on her charisma and easy charm, but she worked her ass off too. This chick is _awesome_.

After pretty thoroughly washing up, they head into a big room, set off from the rest of the nursery. There’s a huge table in the room, with a burly dude sitting at it slurping down red soup. “Dean, this is Benny,” Charlie introduces, as Benny’s Herdier gets her paws up on the table and looks rather mournfully over at his soup. “Got the best diner in all of Opelucid in mid-town.”

“Opelucid? I’m goin’ for all of Unova,” Benny volleys back. 

Dean spends a noisy lunch with Charlie and Benny; the two of them are obviously comfortable with each other, constantly laughing and poking at each other over an abundance of inside jokes. Benny shows Dean videos of highly-trained Stoutlands on his phone, expertly rounding up Mareep and Flaaffy by the biggest power plants. 

“Damn if those Stoutland aren’t _accomplished_ ,” Benny says. “But the little guys here love Herdier. Buryin’ in her fur all the time.”

“Can’t train that into a Pokemon.” Dean still feels itchy around his collar, but despite Charlie and Benny’s obvious familiarity with each other, he fits right in with them. It’s impossible to train Benny’s Herdier’s level of sweetness into a Pokemon; it’s impossible to fake being a damn decent person, like Charlie and Benny, if you’re not. 

“Did you meet unfairly hot Delta?” Charlie asks at one point.

Benny smacks her arm, good-naturedly. “You’re _married_ , woman!”

“I know, we’re so boring. Doesn’t mean we don’t have _eyes_ ,” Charlie protests. “She’s kind of the, uh, favorite here, at least among the snooty donors. They hate Tessa’s Absol, but they _looooove_ Delta’s Zorua.”

Dean looks out the window of the lunchroom. Out on the floor, Delta and Zorua meander from enclosure to enclosure. Delta looks completely disinterested in the proceedings, but Zorua slips into the Stunky cage. Dean stiffens, ready to get disinfectant spray and get the hell out of the nursery, but Zorua quickly shifts form and curls his new, fluffy Stunky tail around the new babies, who cuddle up to him. It’s some kind of goddamn miracle move.

“It’s just us, really. There are a couple of professors who volunteer every now and then,” Charlie says, “but we’re not really, um, a _popular destination_ here at Edlund. Barnes is cool, she’s the blind lady with a seeing-eye Octillery. Leave Cain alone, though. He just wants to practice fighting with his Doublade. Pretty awesome to see, _not_ awesome to get caught on the wrong end of.” 

“Peeeek,” Vulpix apparently agrees from under the table.

“Sounds… great,” Dean says, realizing both Benny and Charlie are beaming at him. Everyone he’s met here is cool and all, but also distressingly upfront about the place’s lack of staff and funds.

“It is,” Charlie says, fitting her hand over Dean’s and smiling. Her smile is close-mouthed, not the big friendly greeting it was before, but still genuine. “Don’t let our grouching discourage you. This place is amazing.”

She’s right; Dean doesn’t even pretend not to love the hell out of the Pokemon shelter at Edlund. He loves the long days where pretty much all he does is shovel shit – it’s gross, but someone’s gotta do it – just as much as he loves the days when he watches the Litleo kittens take their first shaky steps. He loves outright cuddling the baby Cubone, and hell, he even loves working hellish 24-hour shifts and overnights, even when the nocturnal Murkrow chicks who can’t even walk yet screech through the whole damn night. 

No one grew up in this world without an appreciation for Pokemon battling, and some of the higher-level trainers really made it a damn art, but after a childhood spent in the midst of battle, Dean ended up fitting in the nursery way better after all. It’s pretty obvious from just a couple of days that some of the workers played the role of good cops, while others played bad cops, but the Pokemon love all of them anyway. Dean, however, becomes the _best_ cop within the span of a week.

“Look at that,” Charlie says, a few days after Dean started at the nursery.

“What?” Dean’s got one of the Totodile in his lap. She was born a runt of her litter, but her teeth grew in normal, so her mouth is like one big pointy morass. Almost every day he spends with her, she wants to play fetch, and she’s really a sweetheart but every time Dean’s gotta stop her from destroying both all the toys _and_ his own arm.

“You’re a natural.” 

As if on cue, one of the Torchics who’s shot up quick since he first came here rushes over to Dean best as he can on his bird feet, and starts nipping at his arm. “Ow,” Dean snips back at the Torchic, but there’s affection in his voice. It’s almost always like this when Dean is here, a dizzy rush of tiny Pokemon making every noise imaginable and trying to ingratiate themselves for any food at all. He loves it. “Thanks, Charlie.”

By the end of every single day, he’s got a lap full of Igglybuff and Cleffa who want attention and don’t give a shit about his macho overcompensation; they aren’t leaving until he gives them what they’ve deemed sufficient cuddles. Or that same tiny Totodile clings to his leg, and then all her siblings rush over and hold tight to him too, until he’s too weighed down to walk. Or a Pidove tries to make a nest of his hair, while one of the three ever-voracious Munchlax they have in the center attempts to make a meal of the hem of his jeans. Or he just gets a big damn hug from a Cubone, when he spent hours feeding her and cheering her up.

Dean could be weirded out by this level of physical affection. But he’s always welcomed Vaporeon’s, her gentle forehead bumps against his hands and calves and even his own forehead when she could manage. The touch of her tail to his leg reminds him, every day, that he’s not alone. So he’s a little overwhelmed with all this attention. It’s a good type of overwhelmed.

The job’s great and Tessa makes what’s gotta be a thousand calls per day, but they’re still way understaffed. At least once every day, only one of them is left to watch over whole herds of tiny Pokemon. Dean loves them all, he really does, but when you’ve got an Aipom thwapping at your leg with its tail, a Chatot that’s escaped to the rafters and won’t stop screaming, and Vaporeon’s trying to play keep-away lest she accidentally injure the Pansear that suddenly got way too curious – it’s a lot. 

“We gotta recruit some more staff,” Tessa says, standing at the foot of the short stairs that lead up to her office, a deep frown on her face. Then Chatot flies over and lands right in her hair, screeching all the way, and the frown shatters as she bursts out laughing. Moment over. But she’s still right.

“Shit,” Charlie says, once Tessa’s gone back into her office.

“What, don’t you want more hours here?”

“As much as I love my work husband, no hetero,” she continues, to an exceedingly well-timed fistbump from Dean, “It just means I’ve been slacking on the hacking, pardon the rhyme.”

“Hacking?”

“Look. Most of the donors to Edlund? Are old greedy assholes who wouldn’t want to donate to a Pokemon shelter even _if_ it was being run by some old dudes like them, nevermind a _woman_ with an _Absol_. So I might’ve… accessed their personal funds and redirected some money they’ll never miss into the coffers of good ol’ Edlund Pokemon Nursery.”

“Where the hell did you learn to do that?”

Charlie’s still grinning when she shrugs a shoulder, but she’s not quite looking at Dean all the way. There’s something there, and Dean knows it. He also knows enough not to pry. “I guess when you grow up a certain way.” Charlie’s friends with Dean, so hey, the girl knows self-deprecation. As an attempt, this falls flat.

Dean’s willing to play along, though; she has with him enough times. “Dude. Remind me not to get on your bad side.” 

“I don’t think you have to worry about that.” She’s smiling, and it would be the right moment for Dean to tell her that he’s got his own stories of what happens if you grow up _a certain way_. He knows Charlie would be the last person to reject him for it, too. But he stays quiet, and lets the moment slip by.

Whether Charlie actually taps into the bank accounts of any more ancient jackasses, she doesn’t say, but Charlie drags her wife in to work the next day to help out. Gilda is tall and graceful and doesn’t say much, which is hilarious considering she’s married to _Charlie_. She’s got a Floette with just as much easy grace as her. Dean stands with Charlie, watching that Floette play keep-away with her flower from an Emolga that can’t quite walk yet.

“That’s – okay, I can say it,” Dean admits. “It’s adorable.” 

“I knooooow.” If this was Dean talking to Charlie in the same tone, she’d tease the hell out of him over his _heart-eyes_. As it is, though, he just feels wistful for something he doesn’t have.

Even with Gilda’s help, the nursery remains loud and busy. Dean’s tending to one of the ponds, where mostly Feebas and Barboach swim about, the two species awkward and ungainly; in a place like Opelucid that gives way to a lot of Pokemon trainers, it’s way too common for wannabe trainers to start with a Feebas in hopes of a Milotic, only to give up on the poor fish before ever training it. As for Barboach, they just aren’t popular and they wash up in the mud a lot. If Dean could find some way to hug these fish, he’d do it.

Thankfully, the Barboach and Feebas seem happily unaware of the shitty treatment their species get. Well, as happy as a Feebas can get with the enormous frown and notoriously ugly mottled, flaky scales. It still makes Dean grin, check the water temperature to make sure it’s okay, then begin to move off to another area he was assigned to for the day. 

The nursery’s mostly comprised of a big floor – the place was probably some kind of barn for Tauros or Rapidash, the unusually large subspecies bred for domestic work, before they converted it to a nursery – divided into neat rows and columns by wooden fences. The fences are pretty tall, too, because some of the Pokemon get huge before they’re sent off to adoption or preserves. Dean tops six feet, but he can’t see over them.

That means Dean sees the Staraptor, gliding near the rafters, long before he sees her owner. She turns his heartbeat into uneven thuds, because – he _remembers_. Of course he does. It never left his mind, curled in tightly among the other memories that mean the most to him.

With the sight of the Staraptor, Dean’s all but racing around a corner to find a good-looking but otherwise non-descript man, with hair that wants to be coiffed but ends up messy, and eyes that pin Dean to the spot where he’s standing. 

“Uh,” he says. Smooth. “Hi. I’m Dean.” 

Guy’s got a pretty firm handshake. A long time ago, when the attack outside Shopping Mall Nine happened, Dean had decided Castiel was the firm grip type for sure. He’s been thinking about this moment for years, but that it’s happening seems like some wild, impossible dream, the kind of shit that doesn’t happen in his life.

“Castiel.” 

Like Dean could ever forget.


	2. Chapter 2

Apparently, though, forgetting wasn’t so hard for Castiel.

Cas shakes his hand. Cas’ hands are so big and warm, and Dean feels stupidly giddy just from their palms touching. Then, he looks at Dean, still heavily intense, and asks, “Where’s the Paras hut?”

“What?” Dean must have misheard.

“I asked where the Paras hut is. Jody assigned me there.”

Dean feels like he’s on one of those shaky candid camera shows he sometimes watches when there’s nothing else on. “To the left, over there,” he says, pointing. 

Cas’ only reaction is a nod. “It was good to meet you,” he says. There’s a serious weight behind his gaze, enough to give Dean hope. 

“You too, Cas,” Dean calls out, to a nod. But all Cas does after that is grimly strap on one of those earloop face masks to avoid Paras’ spores. 

Dude looks ridiculous. He also looks seriously _hot_.

That’s it. Dean’s left standing there, alone. He’s amazed he managed to withdraw his hand back to his side after the handshake and not leave it dangling there like a moron. 

“Lookin’ troubled.” Dean absolutely does not jump halfway out of his skin at Benny’s voice, but Benny is just passing through the little corridor between enclosures. Like Cas, he’s out of sight soon. 

“I didn’t imagine that, did I?” He’s asking it half to Vaporeon and half to himself, but she shakes her head firmly anyway. If he looks half as baffled as she does right now, the confusion actually twisting her normally placid features, it wouldn’t be a good look for him. 

The rest of the day is some kind of goddamn clusterfuck. Dean gets assigned to groom the leafier Burmys, but his hands keep shaking – fucking _get it together_ , Winchester, you’re not thirteen years old – and he keeps sneaking glances. There’s this weird charge in the air when he does it, like he just missed Castiel looking back at him. 

As for the poor Burmys, all they can do is look at him balefully. They’re still raggedy, and their little beady eyes set almost mournful looks on him. “Sorry, buddies,” Dean murmurs. “A little… distracted.” He’ll give ‘em the trim of a lifetime some other day. 

Another day. Where he’s still going to have to deal with this. Because _Castiel is working here now_.

“Vaypo,” Vaporeon says, pushing her forehead against his calf, when they get back to his apartment. From the expression on her face, Dean’s pretty sure that if she had opposable thumbs and the ability to say anything other than permutations of her own name, she’d be sitting across from him with a cup of coffee and telling him, _We need to_ capital-T _Talk_.

“I know,” Dean grumbles back. Vaporeon reaches up to bump her scaly head against his hand at that, in some attempt at moral support. “Look, I didn’t see him trying to talk to _me_ much, either. Acting like he didn’t even remember.” 

If Dean had any hope that Castiel was there for only a couple of days for some kind of community service or somethin’, that hope’s quickly put to rest, because Castiel is there at the center the next day too. And that’s what Dean had very, very secretly been hoping for the whole time. 

Castiel only acknowledges him with a small head nod, and the palpable _jolt_ that passes between them. Dean glances around after the nod, desperate for some Elekid nearby to explain it, but no. It’s just his damn feelings.

Fuckin’ feelings.

Dean goes home after what he’s thinking of as Day Two and pretty damn shamefully jerks off. Not that it does much for him, after a while, even when he busts out the tingly lube that he normally only saves for special occasions. It’s good, and he finds himself heaving out hard breaths that catch in his throat, but he still – he still needs a little push.

His hands are already slick, so he curls two of his fingers up inside himself. With all the adrenaline from the day, it doesn’t even burn, and he’s groaning, pitched forward onto the sheets of his bed enough that he feels his own breath dust his cheeks. His cock rubs wet against his stomach. It should do it for him, any other day it would do it for him, but today –

Fuck it. He has to waddle, and he’s not proud about it, but he goes to his drawer and pulls out the vibrator. He doesn’t use it a ton, because he doesn’t want to get used to it God forbid, but that is _exactly_ what he was looking for. With how hyped up he is, how every nerve ending in his body sings and fizzles at once, it doesn’t take him long until he’s coming. Better than usual, too, goddamn. His come arcs up and hits him right in the chin, which gives him a stupid perverted thrill.

His body still clenches around the vibrator. That’s what made it so fucking good in the first place, what gave him that last little nudge to spill over. But the vibrator’s still plastic, even it’s particularly _awesome_ plastic. And he doesn’t have anyone to lean against; he’s only got his bedsheets, and they’re not warm until he rolls up against them. 

Dean punches said bedsheets, because _dammit_.

Dean can’t look Cas in the face the next day – “lookin’ pretty florid, Winchester!” as Charlie puts it, oh-so-cheerfully and definitely in Cas’ hearing range – but after that, he finds himself almost compelled to look at him. He’s a weird guy, but in a way that’s stupidly endearing, and Dean rolls his eyes when he thinks that, because he might as well be writing _Dean & Cas_ in his notebook surrounded by dumb little pink hearts.

The endearing part, though, he’s totally right about that. A herd of elementary school kids come in a couple of days later, on some kind of school trip, and mill about the floor. “ _Please_ help Cas with them,” Jody whispers to Dean. Benny’s not in today, and the phones are so tied up Charlie’s helping Tessa out with them. 

Dean walks over to the cluster of kids gathered in front of Cas. Dean adores kids, but when these kids are around Cas, he’s expecting a lot of blank-faced expressions and restless shifting around on their feet. What he gets, though, is a group of absolutely rapt kids. 

Cas has them by the Feebas and Barboach pond, his Staraptor perched on his shoulder. “Many trainers consider Feebas shabby, ugly,” Cas tells them, skimming his hand through the pond. Staraptor comically bats her huge wingspan to keep herself balanced, then returns to looking haughty and dignified. “At best, they’re ignored. At worst, trainers snatch them up in the hopes of a Milotic in the future, then abandon them here. It’s terrible treatment.”

“That _stinks_ ,” a serious-looking little girl with heavy bangs and comically huge glasses declares. “When I’m old enough, _I’m_ going to train a Feebas. And then I’ll have the best Milotic in the world!” 

Cas smiles at her, briefly, nothing more than a quirk of the lips. “The world needs more Pokemon trainers like you, Maeve. Does anyone want to pet the Barboach?”

A chorus of _ewwwww_ s rise up from the kids. Barboach are notoriously slimy.

“Can’t win ‘em all,” Dean speaks up at last. Cas raises his head and stares at Dean, long and curiously, as if he’s noticing him for the first time. “Barboach ain’t so bad. C’mere, you can pet Vaporeon.” 

Most of them do; they giggle while they do it, but Vaporeon leans into their touch and coos. A couple of the braver kids go back over to the pond afterward, brushing their hands against the Barboach’s skin.

“Thank you,” Cas says. He’s close enough to Dean that he can feel his body heat through their layers of clothing, and the thought casts a delicious shiver over Dean. “For the help. You work very well with children.” 

Dean keeps his face pointed distinctly forward so that Cas can’t see the color rising on his cheeks. “You too,” he gets out. Cas treated the kids in a way that was strangely adult, without talking down to them. There might not’ve been a lot of sentiment in the way Cas was talking to the kids, but there was a lot of respect for who the kids were, or the Pokemon themselves, and it’s sweet in Cas’ offbeat way.

On the way out that night, Dean catches Cas, who of course volunteered to stay late already, in one of the Cubone enclosures. “You’ve had a long day, I know,” Cas is saying to the Cubone, completely serious, like they’re his coworkers too. It’s completely ridiculous.

Dean is so screwed.

Cas is a runaway locomotive in his mind. Dean’s thoughts circle around him, both as he is currently and that potent, intriguing dude who saved his damn life outside Shopping Mall Nine, going whip-fast. 

“Remember Anville Town,” Dean tells Vaporeon over dinner that night. She visibly shudders. When he was maybe fifteen or sixteen, John managed to arrange a meeting with some of the better trainers in exclusive Anville Town; they took a sable, squat train there, Dean clutching Vaporeon through the entire bumpy ride. All the train took him and Vaporeon to, though, was an absolute ass-kicking. By a Rhydon, embarrassingly enough.

Dean thinks of Vaporeon sprawling helplessly through the air after that Rhydon’s Magnitude attack; he thinks of the way Cas reappeared in his life, which might as well have cracked the ground open, too. “Just hopin’ the train takes me to a better place this time around.” He ain’t optimistic.

Vaporeon’s likely got no idea what he’s talking about, but she bumps her head against his hand and coos, “Creeeee.” It’s enough of an assurance, for now.

Thing is, and every time Dean thinks of it his gut churns unpleasantly, Cas clearly doesn’t want to talk about that night outside Shopping Mall Nine. He’d rather pretend it never happened. Dean gets it. He’s perfectly willing to play the avoidance game, too. God knows he’s tried to keep people away from him, because all he does is leave a wreck in his wake. He can deal with his own shit, but no one else should have to.

But that night. Cas couldn’t have forgotten it; no one forgets shit like that.

“So where were you working before this?” Charlie asks Cas one day over lunch. 

“You’d think a chick involved in seriously illegal activity wouldn’t be so eager to ask everyone what their hobbies are,” Dean says, desperate to change the topic.

Cas pushes his pasta around his plate with a fork for a few seconds after. Dean’s wondering if they really are going to drop the whole thing, until he speaks up. “I worked as a trainer at Naomi Malach’s gym –”

Charlie’s eyebrows go right up to her hairline. “Maybe I should start siphoning out of _your_ bank account.” 

“– but for the most part, I worked as a cop.”

“Well that’s about as different as you can get,” Benny says. “Why’d you change jobs, chief?”

Dean snorts and kicks his legs out, pushing himself away from the table. He can’t believe this conversation is happening in front of him. “Let me guess. You weren’t like the other cops.” His tone is snippy, but he doesn’t care. 

“Yes,” Cas says, turning to stare at Dean. There’s the usual simmer behind it, but confusion, too.

Dean starts to open his mouth to say something else, probably worse, but he stops in his tracks when he sees the look on Charlie’s face. Her eyes are narrowed, but her eyebrows are still lifted, hurt and anger and confusion playing themselves out on her face at the same time.

Dean realizes this version of himself, the one who says awful, hurtful things without thinking, is not the one she knows. She expects better of him. It’s a strange thought.

He drops the interrogation. For now.

Dean’s at war with his own damn feelings. There’s the Heatran’s lair-hot betrayal, shame simmering behind it, that Cas would try to pretend it never happened. At the same time, Dean has to bat away that stupid, stupid, _stupid_ giddy glee in him when they chat. He’s definitely not a teenager any more, and he made a big goddamn point not to act like that when he _was_ one.

“Your Staraptor’s cool,” Dean says one day, when the Staraptor in question is staring down her beak at the nursery’s assortment of baby Flying-types. There’s a Doduo with big bald patches in his feather growth, and she seems as fond of that little guy as she does of anyone. Which is to say, not all that much, but she’s tucked him under her wing and is grooming his scraggly feathers thoroughly.

“Thank you. Your Vaporeon has obviously been cared for very well.”

Scintillating goddamn conversation.

There’s another few beats of silence, until Dean throws out a question like an anchor, meant to keep Cas tied to him somehow. “Did you catch her?”

“No. My father –” and Cas says that in the same tone Dean would probably use to talk about Dad, so yikes, he’s not gonna go there – “said I could have any Pokemon I wanted, when I was of age. I wanted Starly.”

“Starly are, uh – they’re pretty common, right?” 

“And notoriously headstrong and difficult to train,” Cas offers as response, stroking one of Staraptor’s puffy wings. For her part, Staraptor’s stopped caring for the Doduo in order to look at Dean rather skeptically. 

Dean’s probably said the wrong thing; there’s a pretty significant upper class section of the city, one that would probably take offense to the very idea of their Pokemon being _common_. He doesn’t think Cas, with his perpetually rumpled clothes and hair, would be some kind of snob, but Dean’s been surprised by too many people in _terrible_ ways. For whatever reason, it’s the end of the conversation, apparently. 

Except not quite. “Your Vaporeon is very beautiful,” Cas says, a day or two later like they never dropped this line of discussion. Somehow, Dean’s not surprised this is how Cas handles talking to people, and he curses the stupid giddy kick in his gut. “Where did you catch her? You must be extremely skilled as a trainer to have one.”

“I didn’t catch her either.” Dean – he doesn’t _tell_ a lot of people where Vaporeon came from. They probably assume he comes from the rich part of the city when they see him with a Pokemon as valued as Vaporeon, even with the workmanlike boots, jeans going thin around the knees, and janky tattoos. “Uh, when my – my dad wanted me and my brother to become trainers as soon as possible. He knew an Eevee breeder.” Because his mom had volunteered there, and they felt so terrible after her death, they were willing to help them out in any way they could. Of course, to John, _helping them out_ was arming his young children with extremely powerful Pokemon. “We trained pretty hard, and she evolved this way after a while. I’m from Village Bridge –” telling Cas anything personal seems so strangely illicit – “so I guess she picked it. I grew up around a lot of other Water Pokemon.”

He’s smiling, but the choice thing, it’s a lie. 

Dean barely had any time with Vaporeon as an Eevee. He saved up and scrounged and – okay, even at twelve, he _stole_ – so that he could get a Water Stone. John came home one night to find Dean’s Eevee had sprouted a mermaid’s tail and gills and was dripping a long wet trail around the house; Dean got the lecture of a lifetime in return. John gave him a lot of shit about _permanence_ and _responsibility_. Even at that age, Dean remembers thinking that apparently giving your kid a Pokemon when he was way underage was fine, but giving him any choice in the matter was _definitely_ not.

Normally, Dean tore himself up over everything John said to him. He really did. He’d rip himself apart so that John wouldn’t have to do it to him. But this time, Dean just didn’t care. He needed a Water type, after what happened to Mom.

And he never regretted choosing Vaporeon. Not for a second. 

Cas is looking at him funny, like he can tell there’s more to the story. Dean’s a good liar, so he’s unnerved by the way Cas saw right through him. Then again, there’s definitely more to the story of Cas’ own Staraptor, and _his_ dad, but Dean’s not gonna pry. 

They walk together in easy sidestep. “You gonna try and feed the Darumaka again?” Dean asks, chuckling as he does.

“I’ll try. They were – rather frisky.” Cas hitches up the sleeve of his black jacket. There’s a brown blotch on his arm, faded by now but still standing out. It’s the remnants of a burn from those Darumaka, one where Dean had to have Vaporeon hose down Cas’ arms over. Once Dean’s momentary worry over Cas’ injuries had subsided, he’d been left with just Vaporeon and Cas, whose forearms dripped with water and shone. Some of Vaporeon’s spray had ended up on Cas’ neck, and lone, treacherous beads of water had slid down, under his shirt collar. 

None of it was as intriguing as Cas’ eyes, as the way he looked at Dean.

Dean had gotten the hell out of that situation, and fast. 

“You like your understatements, Cas.” Everything unsaid hangs between them, and fizzes away like bubbles when they’re like this.

If the situation was more normal, Dean might’ve asked Cas out. Not even necessarily on a date, because honestly, he needs _friends_ here in Opelucid. Either way, Cas might’ve been more willing to talk about that night at the mall after a couple of drinks were in his system. But it’s not anything resembling a normal situation. He can keep his relationship with Cas strictly inside the four sturdy walls and many rowdy pens of the Edlund Pokemon Nursery.

He can’t help but wonder about Cas, though. This gorgeous redhead picks Cas up every day, sometimes spotting kisses across his cheek. A Pidgeot always takes a couple of swoops around her and Cas together, protective. The woman isn’t the type you call hot, but she’s got Cas’ type of elegance. Dean’s not sure if it’s a sibling thing, or that weird phenomenon where couples start to act similarly. Doesn’t make him feel great, at any rate.

Benny’s probably tired of hearing Dean grumble about it when he’s being cranky about Cas, but Dean doesn’t have anyone else who will listen to his griping. Charlie usually whacks him and tells him he’s being _mean_ , and she’s totally right, but Dean doesn’t wanna hear it right now. Dean’s sure Delta wouldn’t respond, and he’s not going to spill his guts to the girl who spends most of the day brooding. Jody and Tessa are his bosses and therefore out of the question. That leaves Benny.

“He’s like a damn Magnemite,” Dean hisses to him, staunchly ignoring the fact that he keeps flicking his own eyes up to watch Cas. He doesn’t catch Cas looking back at him, but he’s always got this annoying feeling, like a wiggly tooth, that he just missed it. Staraptor doesn’t hide her constant and utterly withering glares toward Dean, but that’s how she looks at everyone. 

“Mm-hmm,” is all Benny says in return. Vaporeon’s perfectly content chasing Benny’s Herdier around in circles, until Staraptor glides over to them, and then, the traitor darts over to the bird Pokemon, swatting at her claws. Dean scoffs in exaggerated offense.

Later, Dean’s in one of the Cubone enclosures, trying to scoop up one of the most particularly squirmy Cubone in the entire nursery. “Let me help,” Cas says, appearing out of goddamn nowhere. “I know this one can be difficult.” Dean wants to brush him off, but then he’s got Cas’ wide, lovely hands supporting his arms, and he can’t shoo the guy away.

They cradle the Cubone together, and he stops squirming. When Dean sneaks a look at Cas’ face, he’s half-smiling at what he sees in front of him. This is dangerous, but Dean doesn’t want to get off the train.

“Thanks, Cas,” is all he says instead, letting Cas pick up the baby Cubone on his own and move off to wash his skull cap; it got a little dinged-up in some squabbling with a couple of other Cubone earlier.

Dean tries to summon up his anger at Cas, how he can just go on acting like nothing happened outside the mall, but there’s a blank where that anger pitched and roiled inside him just earlier that week. That is, until Dean catches Benny smirking in his direction. Damn traitor.

At that, Dean can feel himself heating up again. He might just be angry at himself, but he’s not going to admit that to anyone.

“He is kind of a jackass,” Benny finally says, the next day. Dean’s been complaining to him for the better part of a week, now; Benny’s accent always makes his voice sound tired, but right now he just sounds _exhausted_. Dean arches his eyebrows and nods, still willing to take the win on this point even if he suspects there’s more coming from Benny. He’s right. “But man, there’s somethin’ about you two…”

Seriously. A damn traitor.

The resentment fades after that. Dean doesn’t have the capability for unquenched anger within himself. His dad did; it was the fuel that pushed him every day. In the end, though, it wasn’t a fire that did him in like what happened with Mom, but Dean thinks that anger might have burnt him out and left him hollow years before the car accident officially did the deed. Dean can’t be that guy.

It’s impossible to stay mad at Cas anyway. Not when Cas tosses him a bag of potato chips while Dean’s chowing down on a turkey sandwich and tells him, “It’s better with those on it.” Not when Cas ends up absent-mindedly handing off a quarter of his own sandwich to both Staraptor and Vaporeon, and laughs good-naturedly with Dean about the way Vaporeon skids across the floor as she chases after food. Not when Cas gives squealing baby Pokemon shots without blinking, speaking softly to them the entire time to calm them down.

Dean pays too much attention to the way Cas’ voice slips into a rasp when he speaks low, the nonchalant way he hands the Pokemon off to Dean like they’re a natural team, the way the shape of his arms shift against his shirt sleeves. He’s fuckin’ screwed, but more than that, he’s being _stupid_.

And Cas is being even stupider, because he knows. He has to know. God knows that night clings to Dean’s memories, a fine mist over everything else in his brain that’s impacted the very way he sees the world. After it happened, he spent weeks looking over his shoulder for Alastair, but then when the worry ebbed, he started looking over his shoulder for Castiel. Dean didn’t believe in fate or any of that shit, but he figured meetings like that just don’t happen if you’re not meant to meet again.

As it turns out, he was right, and they did meet again. Only now, the guy didn’t _want_ to remember him. A big heavy pit grows to take permanent residence in Dean’s stomach, because something’s wrong here. And it’s probably him. 

*

It was probably only a matter of time before Charlie showed up to work in some kind of nerdy-ass costume. Dean has no room to talk, though, because a week or so ago she’d been gushing about _Deoxys’ Meteor Mash_ to Gilda, and Dean wished he had the balls to ask her to tag along. He’d played the most rudimentary versions of that game on some ancient console when he lived on the road, and as it turned out, he had damn good aim. 

Dean was expecting a nerdy-ass costume from Charlie, but he wasn’t expecting _full cosplay_. And not only that, but _matching_ cosplay, because with the butter-colored silk jumper and the distinct number of tails trailing behind her, she clearly dressed up as Ninetales to go along with her Vulpix.

Jody takes one look at Charlie as she walks through the doorway – squeezes, actually, she has to shimmy on through sideways – and bursts out laughing, then walks back into her office.

“A girl tries to promote a good time, and look what she gets!” Charlie yells after Jody, but she’s laughing, too, as she does it. 

Dean’s eyes instinctively flick over to Cas, as much as he hates it. Cas is busying himself getting water and plant food into a couple of the verdant grassy alcoves where the multitude of Budew and a handful of Roselia in the shelter live, but he keeps glancing toward Charlie and smiling. 

There are a couple of moments where Cas’ eyes move to look toward Dean. He holds Dean’s gaze for more than just a beat, then moves away, back to the Pokemon and Charlie. Dean doesn’t hate it, much as he feels like all his clothing is way too stuffy and itchy when he catches Cas glancing at him. 

Dean wouldn’t blame Cas for teasing her, because he himself will probably give Charlie some crap later. He’d expect him to ignore her costume entirely, because this kind of thing doesn’t seem like Cas’ bag at all, but the acceptance weirdly warms Dean. Somethin’ about Cas reacting in a way he wouldn’t expect. Guy’s a mystery.

“Goin’ LARPing?” Dean asks Charlie later. She gives him this truly ridiculous grin in response, but Dean doesn’t mind much. Everything about her is weirdly charming. 

“How did I know you’d be a big enough dork to know what this is for? But, yes, I’m promoting my little LARPing get-togethers.”

“Little?” Dean huffs out a laugh. 

“Okay, fine, it’s the United LARPers of Greater Unova, _details_. Point is, do _not_ tell me you wouldn’t want to do this.” Charlie gestures to herself and looks outright smug, which is a weird look on her. Yellow isn’t really her color, but it’s impossible to deny that her jumper is freakin’ fantastic. There’s a hood with ears and all. She even managed the nine tails, their frames made of some kind of wire with the fabric taut over it. Vulpix keeps trotting in circles around her, his real tails wagging. Even he looks impressed.

There’s no point in Dean denying it. “Okay. When do you meet up?”

“Saturday afternoons. I can _totally_ talk to Jody to get both of us off. Please, please, please?”

Dean finds himself nodding in assertion. He doesn’t know Charlie very well besides her impeccable taste in Pokestar Studios movies and her love of LARPing and Gilda a like, but she’s kind, caring to the baby Pokemon, and not just smart but crafty and clever. After the shit he’s been through, he could use more people like that.

Friday rolls around, and Charlie drags Dean to a big costume warehouse on their shared off-day. He’s absolutely not surprised to see all the employees already knew her name and apparently got her some, in her own words, _sweet discounts_. It’s pretty awesome to have her as his guide, until she actually finds appropriate costumes for him and offering suggestions.

“You and Vaporeon can _totally_ go as matching Eeveelutions,” Charlie insists, holding up – okay, it’s bad enough the thing’s a jumpsuit, but there’s also a patina of green fuzz all over it. He’d never dress up as a Leafeon for obvious goddamn reasons, but especially not one where the costume was adorned with horrid _felt leaves_.

Charlie must’ve read his face somehow, because she eventually says, “Or not,” and puts the costume back on the hanger with something like a flourish. “But maybe this one!”

As if her last suggestion hadn’t been bad enough, this costume’s a _purple_ jumpsuit, with a matching hoodie brandishing tufted ears and a big gem in the middle. 

“ _No_ ,” Dean all but hisses, snatching the Jolteon jumpsuit off the rack – the thing is seriously bright yellow, not even the pretty, muted maize of Charlie’s Ninetales cosplay but practically neon, and bearing a white spiky collar – and storming off into the dressing room. He catches a glimpse of two sets of wounded-looking eyes, from Charlie and Vulpix alike. 

Shit. He’s an asshole.

Vaporeon slides under the curtain in the dressing room, even though she’s not supposed to be there, and chatters at him. It’s no words in Dean’s vocabulary, but he can tell, she sounds annoyed. Dean knows he fucked up; he’s pretty much a perma-fuck-up. 

“She’s still out there, yeah?” Dean asks Vaporeon once he tugs on the jumpsuit. He doesn’t even bother to look in the mirror. No one looks good in highlighter yellow. Plus, he’s pretty sure the thing has friggin’ Spandex. Vaporeon nods. 

True to Vaporeon’s sorta-word, Charlie’s sitting on one of the costume warehouse’s big plush chairs, one foot in what looks like the costume foot of a Charizard. Dean’s gotta give the girl credit for going all-out with this. 

She raises a careful eyebrow at him, and Dean’s pretty sure she’s not gonna say shit until he does first. Vulpix takes the opportunity to curl around Charlie’s one bare foot. The gesture’s protective, like Dean’s some kind of _danger_. Great. Dean really needed to feel like more of a jackass. 

“Charlie, I owe you an apology,” Dean says. “I acted like a jackass.” 

“You sure did,” Charlie volleys back, patting the seat next to her nevertheless. “But no one freaks out that much over a costume without a reason. Spill. If you want to.”

Dean really doesn’t want to. He never wants to, honestly. But there’s a certain point where he knows it’s _better_ to spill, so that’s how he ends up telling Charlie about the way he grew up. “Think you can understand why Leafeon and Espeon got me so freaked in particular,” he finishes after a couple of minutes, offering up a sad shrug.

Charlie has no hesitation. She leaps out of her chair almost immediately, even though one of her feet is bare and the other one has a weird sorta-shoe sorta-slipper stuck to it, and drags Dean up to hug him too. Dean knew Charlie was awesome, he could have told you that from the start, but he never appreciated her as much as in that moment. She just fucking _got_ it.

“I’ll tell you something,” she says in return, pretty much right into his neck because she’s a full head shorter than he is. “I taught myself how to hack, because I had so much free time as a kid. Because both my parents, they were gone in a car accident, too. They were too stubborn, they insisted on driving this car they got for cheap because it was manufactured for places without Pokemon –”

Dean’s pretty sure they’re going to have to pay some kind of fee to remove the tear stains from these costumes. He isn’t crying, at least, but his eyes keep stinging. Must be a lot of dust in these costumes.

“Got into engineering at first, trying to – it was like I could find some way to make up for them. But computers were more my style, you know? And Vulpix, my mom used to tell me bedtime stories about them and Ninetales. Think pretty much everyone was _so surprised_ I didn’t ask for a Porygon, or at least a Magnemite, but we get by.” 

She offers her Pokemon a wobbly smile. Vulpix moves in to bump his head against both Charlie and Dean’s ankles, until Dean starts to feel accepted again. Vaporeon crawls closer too, keeping a careful distance until Vulpix thwacks her with a couple of his own tails, allowing her to lean against him. Vaporeon’s skin is undoubtedly wet and slippery, but Vulpix doesn’t seem to mind a bit.

They’re clutching to each other in the middle of a costume warehouse. Charlie’s eyes are so red they’re only a couple of shades off from her hair, and Dean has matching tear blotches on his costume, which is so bright it’s practically a scream. Charlie herself is wearing only one shoe, and that shoe is a slipper made out to look like an oversized Charizard foot. As for Dean, he spilled his guts, for the first time in a goddamn long time. Maybe the first time ever sober. Certainly the first time to someone whose face he’d have to see another day.

He wasn’t panicking. 

The warehouse is out of costumes in Vaporeon’s size, so Charlie ends up buying him body paint that she swears is safe for Pokemon and human alike. “And waterproof to boot!” she said at check-out, back to her usual perky self. The paint is bright yellow, because Vaporeon had totally smirked at Dean in his neon jumpsuit. Probably would have been cackling, if she could. 

“Payback,” he tells her. She doesn’t grumble in return, just lets him keep painting across her flank.

That Saturday, Dean gets to the open field to find the place outright bustling. There are Pokemon grooming booths set up, Espurr and Snubbull milling about by them, along with a couple of battling stations. Most of the trainers at the latter seem more interested in chatting than battling, though, and long minutes pass without an attack from either one of the Pokemon involved.

Mostly, though, it’s an absolute swell of LARPers. Some of them are dressed like their Pokemon, others in a matching type, others as a totally unrelated Pokemon. Hundreds of Pokemon are represented, from Rayquaza – a woman dressed in a tiny emerald crop top and billowy pants, but most impressively sporting an enormous headpiece with ferocious-looking jaws even in cardboard, strips of long gold tissue paper streaming off it – to Patrat, where a group of teenagers put on glasses with red and yellow bug-eyed lenses and affixed round black noses and called it a day. 

People shout in delighted recognition when they see someone wearing the same costume as them, or they get into mock-fights if their Pokemon are known as rivals. The Pokemon themselves wander around from LARPer to LARPer; some of them seem completely baffled by the situation, but most of them take the opportunity to wind their way through groups, looking for their human match.

Dean definitely digs this place.

Charlie is easy to find because she’s surrounded by a huge group of people, which is completely unsurprising. She has her arm around Gilda, who matches her Floette perfectly with a handmade parasol, hair pulled in two tight pigtails and studded with tiny flowers. Charlie’s crowd ranges through all ages; there are people who are definitely older and looking sort of sheepish at being stuffed into these costumes, and there are little kids who don’t look like they’ve heard of the word _embarrassed_ yet. Judging by the Porygons, Magnetons, and Klinklangs rotating about in the air, some of Charlie’s hacker buddies also tagged along.

She’s the one that unites this entire ragtag group of followers. Her own kind of power.

“Dean!” She wraps him up in a frankly enormous hug when she catches sight of him, like she doesn’t have a million other people demanding her attention. “You did show up. Never lovelier. Yellow is _totally_ your color.”

“It absolutely is not.” He’s still grinning, though.

Charlie returns his smile with her own. “Alright, I’ll concede the point. Look who else I finagled into coming! You’re gonna be _thrilled_.”

Charlie grips Cas, because of course she’s talking about Cas, by the shoulders and whirls him around so he’s facing Dean. He’s wearing his constant worn trenchcoat, only he’s stuck a bunch of big red feathers to – well, to his ass, not that Dean can really see the shape of it under the trenchcoat and _definitely_ not that he had ever bothered to try to look – and from each shoulder, two beady-eyed fluffy paper mache bird heads stare back at Dean.

“A _super_ handsome Dodrio, right?” She’s practically bouncing up and down.

Dean starts laughing. He can’t help it. He used to get so fucking angry any time he looked at this guy, but it’s smoothed away to sheer affection. There’s something else under that affection, regret that their relationship hasn’t gone farther and it probably never will, but Dean can force it even deeper down.

For his part, Cas takes it well. “Jolteon,” he says, serenely, like he’s not even embarrassed by Dean in a yellow jumpsuit. In fact, his eyes do a quick flick up Dean’s body that leaves him feeling – well, mostly he feels _appraised_ , but there’s that same damn warmth rising up through his cheeks.

“Did you know I would be here?” And goddamn it, it’s impossible not to notice the way Charlie starts looking back and forth between the two of them. He doesn’t even want to think about the damn look on her face, which is more or less unabashed glee. It’s easy to forget, because with Cas around, the world has a funny way of narrowing down to the two of them, his heavy gaze and the past that simmers between them.

“No. I came because it would be fun.”

“Fun,” Dean repeats.

Cas almost smiles. “Yes. I’m somewhat familiar with the concept.” He’s dry as Groudon’s land, so it takes Dean way too long to realize he’s joking. A joke. From Cas. It might be less weird if he actually grew feathers out of his ass. Probably wouldn’t leave Dean smiling as wide, though. “I do karaoke sometimes, too.” 

Now that’s _gotta_ be a joke, so Dean finds himself laughing. “You got a favorite song?”

“‘Scarborough Fair.’” 

“That one works at karaoke?” 

“It brings the house down.” Cas sounds more wry than dry, but the guy’s so hard to decode that Dean isn’t sure whether he was joking or serious. “Do you have a favorite song?”

“Yeah. Tie between ‘Ramblin’ On’ and ‘Traveling Riverside Blues.’ Don’t think I’d do either for karaoke.”

“Well, what would you do?”

Dean shrugs. “Guess I’d have to try it out to find out.” 

“Maybe some time you can come along.”

“You lookin’ to go deaf?”

“Not for that,” Cas says in return, smiling all the way. Dean feels the anticipation zip through him. Of what, he doesn’t know, but he’s opening his mouth to speak again when another person they know approaches them. 

It’s Tessa, and Charlie aside, her costume is definitely the most impressive. She’s rigged big purple loops to hang stiffly off her arms and back, and stuck two half-moon stickers to her cheeks. With its easy, dreamy curves and constant moon motif, the costume’s instantly recognizable as Cresselia. It makes Dean grin, because he’d love to see those stuffy assholes who fear Absol run away _now_. 

“I needed one damn day off from schmoozing those rich donors,” she gripes. “Glad to see you boys having fun.” 

“See, Tessa knows,” Cas says right to Dean, who can’t help the smile curving over his face. Tessa gives them much the same look Charlie did earlier, a quick glance back and forth with something knowing behind her eyes. Dean’s startin’ to hate that look.

There are lots of friendly faces in the crowd. Benny’s busy at the diner, and Jody had to cover his and Charlie’s shifts at the center, but a couple of people he’s seen volunteer at the nursery a couple of times show up. Charlie brings over a big crowd herself, not only because of her programming and hacking friends, but also because she made a bunch of poofy Lopunny ears, stuck them on headbands, and hands them out to anyone who didn’t bring a costume with them.

Even _Delta_ shows up, which is kind of amazing considering Dean hasn’t seen her talk to Charlie in a while. Really, Delta doesn’t talk to much of anyone; she likes to work with her iPod buds stuck in her ears even while she’s rocking baby Pokemon to sleep. Dean’s certainly never had a conversation with her that lasted more than a minute or so, and he got the feeling she was mocking him the entire time. She’s wearing all black, which is the usual for her, and a red scarf like a slash around her neck, which is not. There’s also a Ditto riding her shoulder, drooping off either side.

“You didn’t dress up,” Charlie says with a pout.

Delta plucks at the scarf with two fingers. “I’m Darkrai,” she returns, her voice tinged with both exasperation and amusement. She sinks a hand into the goopy mass on her shoulder. “He thought it was funny to do the Ditto thing.” Dean wasn’t really aware Delta, or any Pokemon associated with her, had much of a sense of humor at all. But live and learn.

Sinnoh legends say Darkrai and Cresselia are in a constant battle with each other, Darkrai bringing nightmares while Cresselia relieves them with good dreams, so Delta and Tessa end up posing for a _ton_ of ridiculous staged photos to make the kids running around happy. They’re both way more game for it than Dean would have ever expected, and he finds himself whooping in laughter with Cas at his side. The kids keep hugging Tessa in her Cresselia outfit, and most of them ask to pet Absol’s silky fur too. That’s gotta mean the world to her.

Delta’s Zorua shifts into a Mew, and even though he doesn’t have the strength to stay in that form very long, he leads a bunch of kids on a damn joyous chase through the fray of the LARPers. By the time Zorua has to turn back to his real shape, the kids are already gawking over Vaporeon, who makes small makeshift water spouts sprout up around her, and Staraptor. Staraptor doesn’t appear to _entirely_ hate the children stroking her feathers, which is a surprise.

Dean finds himself observing a group of ten kids or so. They’ve all got big white helmets and are carrying bone-shaped clubs, too. The parents are there, watching them, but Dean’s not sure what kind of parents dress their children up as a Pokemon known for _losing_ its parents. No matter how cute those Pokemon may be and how distinctive a costume they make.

“Cubone? Morbid,” Cas says from next to him, which makes Dean jolt in surprise but is also exactly what he was thinking.

“Right? That shit’s not for kids. That one’s got the right idea.” Dean covertly points to the one kid in the little group that’s dressed up like a Squirtle. There’s a pretty impressive shell on her back, she’s got a curly tail, and she’s toting tiny water guns painted blue that she occasionally squirts at the other kids. And no damn skulls are involved. Perfect.

“You just like that costume because it’s a Water Pokemon,” Cas chuckles. 

“Gets her points with me, yeah.” He grins as she absolutely nails one of the kids dressed as a Cubone with a big splash of water. “Seriously, man, that costume’s not for kids. Jerks in school used to call me Cubone Kid.” Dean doesn’t like to think about it, the way that particular taunt stuck to him and Sam. Then he realizes exactly what he accidentally revealed to Cas, and he starts to stutter, “Uh, I mean, not to unload that on you – ”

Cas’ eyes are huge in understanding. Fuck. “It’s alright,” he says, voice low and – ugh, he’s so _concerned_ , Dean could puke. “I’m the one that’s sorry, Dean.”

Dean never meant to let the ugly truth of his past spill all over the dude who makes his heart rate pick up marathon-fast. And he can’t believe he said it while said dude has two extra heads with creepy googly eyes staring at him. “Means a lot,” is all Dean’s able to mutter, keeping his eyes fixed on the kids with their parents.

The mother of the girl dressed as a Squirtle is dressed up herself, wearing all green and sporting a big fake flower on her back. Dean saw a guy about his age earlier; his costume consisted of sagging cardboard wings and a tail with Christmas lights wrapped hastily around the end, but Dean gave him serious mental points for even attempting a Charizard costume. He’ll guess that’s the dad of this family. Here, though, the mom picks up the little girl in the Squirtle outfit and spins her around and around until they’re both laughing. 

Dean thinks about his mom, taking him by the hand and introducing him to all the Pokemon in their backyard. He thinks about how the dad, in his crappy but sincere Charizard costume, couldn’t have been that much older than him. He doesn’t want to think at all any more, so he stops looking at the bunch of kids and parents in front of him.

He’s interrupted from his thoughts, thank God, by a big warm hand on his shoulder. “Charlie made Tessa bring booze, if you’re interested.”

It ain’t the healthiest way in the world of coping, but Dean lets a big, relieved grin crack his face. “Absolutely.” 

They head off together, and Charlie cheerily hands him something that smells almost violently like green apples. A few years – or hell, even months – ago, Dean would’ve refused to drink this and demanded whiskey. Now, though, what the hell. Dean’s drank worse, and only one long pull from the bottle makes the world settle down a bit. 

By the time the sun starts to set, everyone’s costumes have fallen to disarray. Charlie’s an expert, so of course hers is still pristine, but Dean lost the spiky white collar for his Jolteon costume a long time ago. Even with Charlie’s blessing, he probably should have been more critical of the whole “waterproof paint” thing, because Vaporeon’s now a patchy mess who’s far more blue than yellow. 

Cas got rid of his, well, butt feathers at the quickest possible opportunity, and his left Dodrio head is drooping beyond recognition. Tessa, despite the amazing costume, had sighed _screw this_ about an hour ago and ripped Cresselia’s moons off her cheeks. 

Still, Dean had a friggin’ blast. Yeah, there was that weird moment with the kids dressed as Cubone and Squirtle, but that was just Dean’s own thoughts trying to sabotage him. He’s trying to say _fuck that_ more often.

Somehow Charlie didn’t win the weekly costume contest – she whispers to Dean that they’re _totally_ biased toward guests and not regulars, even if she does acknowledge that the seemingly metal flippers and crest on the dude with the Empoleon costume who did win are pretty _bitchin’_ – but tons of friendly strangers walk up to her and telling her what an awesome job she did. Heck, if she didn’t keep looking at Gilda all moony-eyed, Dean’s pretty sure she’d have her choice of girls to take home. Charlie’s definitely got way more game than he does.

The day’s almost done and they’re all sitting in a circle together, munching messy ribs. The LARPers even provided them with the expensive berry mash for the Pokemon, the kind Dean has to grimace apologetically at Vaporeon over, because there’s no way he could afford it on a weekly basis. He might’ve found himself sitting next to Cas, too, but he’s not gonna worry about it.

“Fun, right?” Cas says. Dean looks over, almost alarmed, but Cas is grinning. It’s gummy and kind of a wonky smile, but it’s a grin nevertheless.

Charming grin, too.

Dean answers Cas with his own smile. “Definitely fun.”

*

After that day, Dean’s relationship with Cas settles into something more comfortable. There’s still that funny charge in the air whenever they’re together, and Cas’ azure gaze still draws Dean’s own, but there’s a comfort to their relationship now, too. They’re friends. A Blissey would delight over seeing them together.

Dean still never broaches the topic of what happened outside Shopping Mall Nine, because what’s the point of shattering this newfound trust. He’s always prided himself on his bravery, how he was the first one in his family to take those first questioning strides into the tangled woods where John led them. But emotionally, he shoves too much shit down. Always has. He’s not willing to break what he has with Cas, though.

“We work together well as a team,” Cas comments one day. They’re both grappling with the herd of Darumaka that came in a while back; Vaporeon distracts them by squirting mini-fountains out of her mouth, making a tableau of roly-poly red spheres rolling away from blue and white, while Cas charges in to check if the fireproof material they’re using for the cage is holding up okay, and then spread out food across the floor. 

Dean’s pretty sure Cas would rush into the enclosure even without Vaporeon diverting the attention of the Darumaka. He’s the type who bolts right into things, and Dean’s always thought of himself like that too. But Dean’s much more of a nurturer, while Cas leaves the nursery every day with sharp semi-circle bites on his fingers and burn marks scoring his arms. He legitimately does not give a shit about self-preservation. 

“Yeah,” Dean says. It’s simple agreement, but then he’s thinking about just how well he worked with that mysterious figure and his blazing _lights_ that blasted the guys that attacked him back and how he ran the hell away. Cas’ eyes snap to him with that same heavy gaze as always; Dean hates that it catches him off guard every time.

Dean keeps waking up with a start from dreams where he’s diving off a precipice, his body clutched tight by a figure wearing Cas’ ill-fitting trenchcoat and streaked with blue. His mind churns over and over, it buzzes, demanding he wake up. Whenever his eyes do open, he usually discovers that he has two or three more hours to sleep. He isn’t sure if that’s a blessing or the opposite.

He’s trying to get used to waking up later for work and taking the damn _bus_. Dean used to pride himself on sleeping two or three hours a night; it’s one of a few useful skills he picked up from life on the road, snatching sleep where he could. But he’s recognized he can’t burn the candle from all ends at this point. Gettin’ old, though he’s only twenty-eight.

“We’re civilians now,” he grunted to Vaporeon the first time they stepped on the bus together. She was cranky, because he’d forgotten to put out more water for her when he slept in, but he’d made time to get her in the tub every day after that.

It’s usually early when he gets to the bus stop, but it’s always crowded. Some of the people waiting call their Pokemon back to their Poke Balls, grimacing and apologizing to them while they do it. Buses are built to hold most Pokemon, but most of the larger ones stay in their balls for the duration of the ride. 

Dean’s seen buses in parts of the world that don’t have Pokemon, not built to hold their weight, and they seem hilariously skinny and small. Then again, they probably don’t jam the roads so badly. 

Vaporeon doesn’t go in her Poke Ball very often. Like most Pokemon owners, he has the ball only in case of emergency. John used to complain that she got the seats in the car wet, so she got called back to her ball for long rides, but she’d come out looking both haggard and bummed out and Dean hated that. Now she lounges luxuriously across Dean’s lap on the bus.

“You comfortable?” he asks, laughing. Her only response is rolling further across his lap. She’s a hoot.

The bus chugs along, until a couple of stops down the line, a familiar figure gets on. Dean ducks his head down to hide his smile when Cas steps on the bus, but Vaporeon catches that smile and starts poking Dean’s arm. He remembers to play it cool, and doesn’t brighten up until Cas offers a small wave at _him_. 

Cas looks the same as he always does, majorly disheveled but also kind of pulling the look off. He’s oblivious enough that his messy hair and off-kilter trenchcoat isn’t _fashionably_ messy, it’s just how the guy operates. His fashion sense is weird, too; he wears a hoodie, cargo pants, and Converse one day, though he’s gotta be mid-thirties, and a three-piece suit the next. On the days he carries a briefcase, it’s one with a Quagsire logo, smiling beatifically. 

For as much as Dean’s thought of Vaporeon, Charlie, and Benny as total traitors at various points, Dean’s mind is in fact the worst traitor of all, because he thinks Cas looks good in anything.

“Heya, Cas,” he greets, as Cas sidles in next to him. He’s warm through his clothes, and if Dean leaned forward just a little, their hips and shoulders could touch. 

Dean keeps his back firmly against the seat. Too dangerous to do otherwise. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says in return, tone serious. Dean could find it off-putting, but he doesn’t, not with the sweet heat that rises between them. Staraptor flutters onto Cas’ shoulder, jostling a couple of other passengers. She doesn’t seem to care much.

“Good night?” Dean asks. 

“I suppose.” Cas always sounds clipped; Dean’s learned not to take it as an insult. “You?” 

“Aw, you know. Same old.” Dean jerked off with long, slow pulls, then bit his lip until he tasted copper so he couldn’t gasp out _Cas_ when he came. “Your stop around here?” 

Cas nods. This is a nice part of town, while not snobby enough to be the _rich_ part of town. The lit-up streets of the technology sector weave easily with charming cobblestone streets, and the lights gleam off the polished stones. This section of the ride’s hell on the wheels of the bus, but at least they’re goin’ slow through the scenic part of town. “Where’s yours?” 

Dean’s torn between finding some way to slip Cas his address, and answering with only a grunt or something similarly non-committal. He ends up settling for saying, “The stop on 16th Street, over by my apartment.” 

One of Cas’ eyebrows goes up. It’s a damn good look. “Wouldn’t be 237 16th Street, would it?”

“The one and only.” Maybe this conversation’s getting more interesting. Just that thought sends a stupid thrill alight through his body. Stupid traitor mind, _again_. 

Cas, for his part, just nods briefly. He’s shifted a lot through this conversation, Staraptor clucking in dissatisfaction when he does, but Dean brushes it off. He’s a weird guy. “My brother lives there. I’m sure you’ve met him. Uriel?”

“I, uh, could have been a lot friendlier to a lot of people in my building,” Dean responds. “I don’t know as many people as I should.” Or anyone at all. 

Again, Cas nods. Dean figures at least he’s familiar with the _should have been friendlier_ part of that. “Uriel lives in the penthouse on the top floor. If you met him, I’m sure you’d remember him. He’s quite hilarious. A Skarmory’s his Pokemon?”

Oh yeah, Dean _does_ remember that guy. “Uriel is _your_ brother?” he blurts out. Smooth. “And he’s hilarious?” There’s no excuse for that one; he had time to think about what he was saying.

Cas, though, only smiles indulgently. “I suppose he has an acquired sense of humor. And yes, my adopted brother. Both of us.” He pauses, the thoughtful sort of pause as if he’s considering what to say next. “Many more where that came from.”

There’s a funny charge to his words, fondness with a huge daub of irritation dropped inside it. Another crappy childhood, Dean figures. He’s about to let it drop, but it’s still a while until they get to Edlund, and he ain’t sitting here in total silence. “How many more?”

Cas laughs, the loudest laugh Dean’s heard from him yet, caught somewhere between a genuine laugh and something darker. “I lost count. Anna and Hannah, I’m closest to. Anna’s my only biological sister.” The expression on his face softens; there’s a smile poking its way into his cheek. Even Staraptor fluffs her wings, trilling happily.

He pulls out his phone. Dean’s not surprised to see his generic background; in fact, he’s more surprised he has a cell phone at all. Somehow he can’t picture Cas browsing Facebook. Cas scrolls through his photos until he finds one of himself with the pretty redhead who sometimes picks him up at the nursery.

His _sister_. Dean hates how relieved he feels.

Now that he’s looking at her up close, he can see Anna has Cas’ big mournful eyes. She’s smiling wide, which Cas doesn’t do much, though. Unsurprisingly, Cas doesn’t really look ready for the shot, his mouth caught half-open. Dean can see the glaring eyes, enough to put Staraptor to shame, and regal crest of a Pidgeot sticking out of the bottom of the photo. 

Dean lets himself wonder how the hell Cas is showing Dean his family, when he won’t cop to remembering him outside Shopping Mall Nine. He’s _not_ letting himself be bitter about it.

“I got a brother, too.” _I got a brother_ is just four words, but the entire world lurks behind it. Dean’s not quite ready to take everything and dump it out there, though, so all he tells Cas is, “Younger brother, Sam. He’s in school now. Haven’t seen him in a while.” It’s a lie by omission, but Dean feels childishly, spitefully entitled to a half-lie when Cas is perfectly happy to pretend the night outside the mall never happened. 

Cas shows no sign of not believing Dean, though, and even though he immediately showed Dean a picture of Anna he doesn’t ask why Dean doesn’t show him a picture of Sam. “You proud of him?”

The question is – well, Cas didn’t intend it that way, but it’s more loaded than Dean likes to think. Of course Dean’s proud of Sam, how he shook off the shackles of their childhood and the fact that he’s going to one of the best colleges in the entire planet. What he’s not proud of is that said college is on another continent and Sam ducked out on family to go there. 

More than that, though, Dean feels like it’s a damn referendum on himself. John was too busy with his half-revenge, half-redemption quest, and he’d never accomplish either, so it was usually on Dean to teach Sam how to be a person. He doesn’t have a clue if he succeeded, because he doesn’t know Sam any more.

But Cas doesn’t need to know any of this. “Sure,” is all Dean says in reply, hating the spike in his voice. Cas definitely gives him one hell of a curious look, but thankfully doesn’t press the issue. 

“This bus is slow,” Cas sighs after a few minutes. On the best of days, the bus trudges through the streets, weighed down by Pokemon and trying not to go too fast in order not to tear up the wheels, and this ain’t one of the best days. The mascot of the Opelucid bus company is Aerodactyl, painted in fierce relief on the side of every bus. Dean knows the company chose Aerodactyl because they’re one of the fastest Pokemon out there in this or any era, but they inadvertently, and fittingly, chose a _dinosaur_ for their mascot.

Dean’s always sucked at patience too, but. “Sure,” he says. “But the company ain’t half bad.” 

At that, the corners of Cas’ mouth lift up. “You’re right on that.” 

The bus ride is goddamn interminable today, and they’re not even stuck behind a traffic light. All around them, Pokemon and humans grumble alike. Dean’s pulled out the spray bottle he keeps in his bag to squirt on Vaporeon so she doesn’t start complaining; Cas has a hand placed firmly on Staraptor’s back, and Dean’s pretty sure that if he released her, she’d thwap her wings hard enough to rattle the windows.

“Something’s gotta be going on,” Dean grumbles, and gets out of his seat to check up front. All he can see are the squat, uniform buildings of Edlund’s campus. There are a few stops within Edlund, and the bus won’t arrive at the one closest to the nursery for at least another ten minutes.

An amalgamation of cars stalls in front of them, stilled to one multi-colored mass. They’re being held up further on ahead by students. Tons and tons of students, all of them milling about in the streets with their Pokemon. There must be a couple hundred of them, brandishing signs Dean can’t read. 

He’s got no idea what’s going on, but tension suddenly strikes him. He’s been simmering in low-level tension with Cas this entire ride, and whenever he’s around really, but this tension is nothing like that. It’s swift and sharp and _mean_ , a metal bar to his shoulderblades.

“Bunch of protesters,” Dean grumbles. The group of students is starting to stream down past the cars and bus. The administrative buildings of Edlund are just past them; they’re probably headed that way. Out the window, Dean spies a Grovyle struggling to hold up a protest sign next to its own, and Dean’s not sure if that’s brilliant or just outright cruel. But he’ll guess this isn’t a protest over Pokemon labor.

Dean doesn’t have a very good view of what the signs say. He’s only able to catch sight of one student, a guy in grungy cargo pants with a neat mop of hair – kid doesn’t even _look_ like Sam, way shorter and the hair’s too neat and even, but it still makes Dean’s heart seize up – toting a sign with _Wake the fuck up, Unova!_ written on it in thick black marker. 

_Wake the fuck up_. Dean doesn’t feel like he’s asleep, exactly, but like he’s caught in that dream where he’s careening off the cliff. All the e-mails he sent to Sam bounce back. Cas acts like he doesn’t remember what happened outside Shopping Mall Nine. Dean’s got a couple of scattered puzzle pieces in front of him, but no idea what the main picture he’s working on should look like in the end. 

“What did that sign say?” Cas asks. He looks concerned, or maybe Dean’s projecting. 

“Said _wake the fuck up, Unova_ ,” Dean tells him, grimacing.

Vaporeon slides her tail against his side at the same time Cas gets a readying hand on his shoulder. Maybe his distress was a lot more obvious than he thought.

“Do you understand what that’s supposed to mean?”

Dean puffs out a sigh. “Wish I did.” He wishes a lot of things. “Mostly just wish we’d be on _time_ , but we’re not, thanks to them,” is what he ends up saying, instead, even if he immediately regrets it.

There aren’t any protesters by the entrance to the nursery, and the path is clear from the bus stop. It’s a busy day in the center; the Poochyena aren’t in the best mood, and snarl even at Delta’s morphed Zorua and Benny’s Herdier’s attempts at romping with them. But what Dean saw on the bus gnaws at him all day anyway. 

“Wake up,” he mutters to himself as he rocks one of the Poochyena. “I’m _trying_.”

*

The bus rumbles on the next day, much like the one before. Dean feels a funny bump in his stomach that has nothing to do with the wheels rolling over cobblestones when they round the corner into the nicer part of town and Cas gets on the bus, Staraptor following after him.

“Wonder what Edlund’s gonna be like today,” Dean wonders. 

“Calmer, I hope,” Cas says in return. Staraptor shifts on his shoulder; Dean’s pretty sure that’s a sign she’s expecting the exact opposite.

“Here’s hopin’.” 

The first couple of buildings at the edge of campus are coming up into view, and other than a normal gathering of students taking advantage of the nice weather, there’s nothing out of place there. Cars stream into and out of campus, moving at a normal pace. “Looks like you might get your wish.”

“I just might.”

Of course, that’s when the damn bus stops so abruptly it screeches. The people and Pokemon the bus go pitching forward scarily quick at the sudden impact. Dean has to catch his breath twice, once at the unexpected stop, and again when Cas’ hand finds his shoulder to steady him. 

“Thanks,” Dean says, trying steadfastly to ignore the little bump in his own voice. They’ve all recovered, and no one’s hurt, but the bus is still left stalled in the middle of the road.

It soon becomes pretty damn clear why. There’s a college student in the road, doing nothing but standing there. She isn’t very tall and she’s certainly not intimidating, but something about the way she carries herself is tough as hell. Dean sees a spark of himself in the way her chin lifts up, her arms cross, her eyes stay like flint; he has to look away at the prickle of recognition. 

She’s not carrying a protest sign and she isn’t trying to talk to anyone. Her only company is her Noibat, who is incredibly tiny and fluttering hard, but utterly glaring at the bus. Goddamn if it’s not effective.

The horn honks. The chick blinks, but otherwise doesn’t move. She’s not even glaring like her Pokemon; she’s just… looking. 

The bus driver grumbles loud enough that Dean can hear it, and rolls down the window. “Miss, can you move?” he shouts out. All the girl does in response is lift her chin a fraction higher. Dean’s familiar with the challenge in her eyes because he wore it for years. Still wears it, most of the time.

“Name isn’t _miss_ ,” she calls back after too long a pause. “It’s _Claire_.”

The bus all but erupts in jeers after that. Dean’s pretty certain the girl knew she’d get this exact reaction, but she hardly reacts beyond tossing her braid over her shoulder. Her Noibat flaps on.

A big beefy dude near Dean, who would be almost attractive if it wasn’t for his bright red face and the nasty look in his eyes, shouts out, “Claire, girl, your professor know you’re missing class?” 

Dean hates the tone in the dude’s voice, so he ends up hissing to him, “Shut the hell up.”

The beefy dude looks back at Dean, an expression on his face like he’d been slapped. “What?”

“Yeah. You heard me.” 

The guy keeps staring. For a minute, Dean’s almost sure he’s gonna get on a fight on the friggin’ bus. But then the dude’s Shelgon touches one of her stumpy arms to his knee, and he just shakes his head and looks away. Shuts up for the rest of the ride, though. 

Dean looks over back to Cas, to find him staring at him already. Dean feels heat blossom across his cheeks, but he still can’t help but ask, low so he doesn’t grab the attention of any of the other assholes on the bus, “What?” 

“What you did,” Cas says, after the bus starts up again, weaving its way around Claire on the road, “that was a very good thing.” 

Dean can only nod in response, just once, and quickly. But the heat across his face settles into a bubble of warmth in his chest, both at what Cas said and the fact that he said it at all. Cas seems like the type who crosses his Ts and dots his Is; he’s always early to work and follows every exact measurement while putting food together for the Pokemon. Ain’t exactly the type to praise a bunch of unruly college kids who threw off his morning commute. 

When they get off the bus, a group of protesters immediately breaks off from the main crowd and starts moving in their direction, swift like a stream. Most of the other people on the bus, even the big dudes, practically run in the other direction, but Dean doesn’t want to admit that he gets a stupid little thrill when Cas walks, with purpose, right toward the crowd. The nursery’s in that direction, sure, but they could still easily find a way there if they decided to avoid the crowd.

“It’s been an interesting morning,” Dean mumbles, bracing his shoulders. He’s not expecting anything like a fight; they’re college kids. But he’s always ready for one anyway. Just the way he was raised.

“Very.” 

“Glad for the company.” 

Dean could fistpump over the genuine surprise in Cas’ face when he looks back at Dean. “It’s excellent company.” 

From this distance, Dean can see that Claire’s still standing on the road. A couple of campus security guards stand off to the side, but Dean’s pretty sure she’d still be there even if security wasn’t.

“I admire that girl,” Cas says. Again, Dean wasn’t expecting that kind of response from him. Cas is steeped in seriousness and at work he’s such a stickler for the rules that both Jody and Tessa have told him to chill out.

Makes Dean smile that he would say it, though. “Me too.” He’s got no idea what this protest is about, or what the hell could drive a college student to stand in the middle of the road armed with nothing but her own toughness, but if he admires anything, it’s guts. That girl has it in droves. “Even if I got no idea what this protest is about.”

They head right into the teeming heart of it.

Dean feels a hard grip on his shoulder. It ain’t Cas. Instead, it’s a college girl who whirls him the fuck around. If Dean had only seen her and not had her practically whip him around, he probably would’ve vastly underestimated her strength. A Rampardos, taller than any human in this group, glowers over her shoulder with his blue bone dome head glinting in the sun. Underestimating her would’ve been a goddamn awful idea. 

Claire is still standing there on the road. She’s so blonde and pale she was nearly washed out, in comparison to this girl and her dark skin and flinty eyes, but they’ve both placed themselves firmly in this moment. He shouldn’t be underestimating any of these kids.

“Even someone like _you_ must have noticed just how cut off we are from every other region,” she snaps. There’s a sharp look to all her features, and the wind blows her hair enough so it puffs out like a mane. 

It’s not anything in her looks, but her damn words that stop Dean in his tracks. Yeah, he’s noticed. It’s only eaten up his life and too many of his thoughts these past few months. 

That’s when he remembers Cas is right behind him. Like hell Dean is going to be intimidated by someone wearing a belly shirt. “Excuse me,” he says in return, trying to sound casual and failing. He elbows through the protesters, trying not to care about the darts of their glares thrown right toward his back. The crowd thins out, eventually, and by the time he gets to the entrance to the nursery, only one person’s waved a placard in his face in the past hundred feet or so.

He still sinks to the ground by the door. 

“Dean,” Cas says. Dean lifts his head to meet Cas’ gaze, heated as ever and completely non-judgmental. His guts squirm anyway. “What was – do you want to talk about it?” 

Not really. Truth be told, Dean doesn’t want to think about his own reaction when he heard that girl say what she did. “Yeah,” he finds himself saying anyway, and then Cas is squatting next to him. He’s not a big guy, not like the assholes who jeered at Claire on the bus, but he’s got a presence that makes him seem larger than his physical form. Helps that Staraptor’s on Dean’s other side, too, his feathers brushing easy lines against Dean’s clothing. “My brother. I told you he was in college. You probably assumed here.” Cas nods, briefly. “He’s not. He’s at Carver.”

It’s hard to miss how Cas’ eyes go alight. “You must be so proud.”

“I was proud,” Dean says. “Am still. I’m just worried I’ve lost the kid.” He drags a hand over his face. “Referring to him in the past tense, God. The situation’s so fucked up. We had a big fight at my dad’s funeral, and – nothin’ since. Tried to e-mail him, tried to call, but there’s nothing.”

Cas makes an inscrutable face. There’s sympathy there, sure, but Dean can’t read much beyond that. Too much time passes, and Dean’s about to say _forget it_ and walk away, angry because he expected better and angry at himself _for_ expecting better, but then Cas speaks. “I lost a sister too.” 

Oh, shit. “I’m sorry,” is all Dean can think of to say, and then he’s – sorta grabbing Cas in this half-hug, the best he can do while he’s sitting. He’s warm and their stubble scratches together at this angle; it should make him want to jump back, but he only wants to curl in against Cas harder. Vaporeon jumps into Cas’ lap, too, and Dean tries to shoo her outta there, but Cas puts one big, warm hand on her back – don’t get jealous of your fucking Pokemon, Dean has to remind himself – to hold her there. 

“She’s fine here. Thank you,” Cas says. His voice is the same strangely clipped tone as ever, but there’s a relief in it. An unburdening, almost. Dean’s heart feels like it’s getting squeezed at that, and up against Cas like he is, he’s sure Cas can feel that funny tick of it too.

“My brother’s just so fucking smart,” Dean says, minutes later. It’s been quiet, but stupidly comfortable. For once. “Was smart, maybe, though I don’t wanna think about him that way. I’m sure he’d get along with Charlie great if he was here.”

“Everyone gets along with Charlie,” Cas points out, with a grin as indulgent as he can manage considering the subject manner, and his own unloading. 

“Yeah, but you know what I mean. Charlie taught herself to hack some of the best security systems in the whole continent. Can’t help but feel like if there was some way to figure out these _communication issues_ , he would’ve done it by now.” Dean’s voice slips into a newscaster’s tone on _communication issues_ , though he suspects no newscaster has ever sounded quite so bitter. “Either some really awful crap’s going on, or he doesn’t give a damn about me.” 

At some point, Cas looped his arm around Dean’s back. It’s stupidly comforting. “It isn’t the latter,” he tells Dean. Dean should tell him to fuck off, because Cas doesn’t understand shit about his life just because Dean let out a couple of details like a leaky faucet. But again, the stupid comfort thing. “I know _difficult_ family. There’s family I’ve wanted to get away from. Family I hated.” Dean thinks of the way Cas’ tone went quick and dark, like the snap of a scissor, when he was talking about his own father. “But not giving a damn – that was never an option.”

Dean understands that too. More than anyone, he’s pretty sure. It’s been a couple of years since John was laid to rest, at last, and Dean still feels the stamp of him all over in almost every damn thing he does. He still walks like he’s trying to impress him; he still dresses in the plaid and boots John kept them in like a uniform. Even with his tattoos meaning what they do to him, he still feels stupidly ashamed of them, because John hated them. Bitterness wells in his mouth when he thinks of his dad, but he still _cares_ , and he knows he always will. 

“I get it,” is all Dean says, hoping those three words can communicate – everything, even though he knows that’s a lost cause. “I do. If you ever want to tell me about – your sister – uh, I suck at emotional support, I’m too fucked up for that, but if you need someone to talk to. I’m here.” 

Cas smiles at Dean, again. It’s more the hint of a smile, the promise of one. But for the situation they’re in, Dean’ll take it. “I know. Thank you. I may take you up on that.”

Dean’s not expecting it, but hey, it’s out there.

The protest worms its way through Dean while he’s at work, chewing up his entire day and spitting it out in a messy glob. The little Totodile girl who only seems to like him is squalling when he walks in, and Dean’s thankful when Delta deposits her, a little too brusque for Dean’s liking, into his arms, because it’s an opportunity to shut his brain off. Of course, she’d pick today of all days to calm down in a matter of minutes. Dean’s left wandering the floor, scanning the windows placed toward the roof of the barn for anything unusual. There’s nothing, but he’s still jumpy. _Paranoid._

Charlie comes in later than he does, and he doesn’t get to talk to her for a bit. “Charlie,” Dean says, when he finally corners her in the nursery’s makeshift aviary. “Can I ask you a favor?” He wants to sound serious, because he _is_ serious, but the gravity of his words fizzles when accompanied by Fletchling and Fletchinder loop-de-looping through the air, and a smattering of Spearow screeching as they squabble over seed speckled across the ground. They never calm down unless Cas and Staraptor are in there.

Charlie’s nearly ever-present smile goes a tick wider. “You know you don’t even need to ask that question, right?”

Dean lets a smile stretch over his face, until it snaps back fast. He’s going to pretend he doesn’t see Charlie’s eyebrows go up at that. Can’t get discouraged now. “So, when you do your hacking. What exactly… are you hacking?” 

“Mostly the bank accounts of some majorly huge douchebags. Not much of a secret if you talk to me for five minutes.”

Only now does Dean notice she’s cradling a Metapod. An aviary isn’t the best place for those guys, but the Pokemon won’t mess with the trainers, and Metapod sometimes need to get moved around so they don’t atrophy in their shells and require more serious aid to fly when they emerge as Butterfree. Still a little creepy how Metapod has his one eye, unblinking, trained right on Dean. “Have you ever tried to – uh, have you tried to talk to anyone in Kanto? Or Johto, or Sinnoh, or _anywhere_ other than Unova.”

“Have I ever,” she practically sing-songs. Her voice drops a full register. “Look, Dean, there’s some serious crap going on there. I’m pretty damn good, and I can’t even begin to make a dent in the firewalls between regions.”

“Firewalls?” Not that Dean didn’t suspect otherwise, but as far as he _knows_ , it’s only Pokemon wreaking havoc on technology. Murkrows and Mandibuzz, tricksters by nature, mess up any airborne wires; anything the tech companies set up underground is at the mercy of Diglett, Drilbur, and Onix.

And yet as long as Dean’s been alive, communication flowed from region to region. Talking to someone in another region was as easy as pressing a button. The Pokemon had always been there, and the communication and tech companies always found a way to work with them. Until they weren’t interested any more.

“Oh yeah. It’s _deliberate_. At least I’m still trying to contact other regions. I’ve got friends with Porygon-Zs and 2s that gave up on it months ago.” 

“You’re telling me the human-created Pokemon and the mutated virus that’s _meant_ to destroy the most complex programs can’t crack this code.”

“Yep. Just little ol’ me and my Vulpix, trying.” Charlie puffs out a breath of air enough to muss up her hair a bit in front. “The situation’s dangerous. _And_ it’s ticking me off. I’m better than those fascist assholes who want to stop us from _talking_ to people.” 

Only Charlie could make him chuckle saying something like _that_.

It’s still serious. Charlie’s got a short shift that day, and she goes home only a few hours later. She’s going to get, according to her, some _beauty rest_ , which for Charlie probably involves eating Cheetos and alternatively tinkering with code and making out with Gilda for a couple of hours before she falls asleep with her phone practically glued to her cheek. So Dean’s the one who has to catch Cas up when they’ve both got some spare time, after Charlie’s left.

“I got ticked off at those protesters for making me late,” Dean grumbles. “You saw it. I’m such an asshole.”

“Someone who stays in ignorance is an asshole. That’s not you.” 

“You’re way too nice, you know that?” The praise makes him outright uncomfortable. He doesn’t deserve it, and getting anything close to used to it, even if it is all lies, would only end in disaster.

Cas looks down at the table, folding his hands in front of him. Dean’s not sure where to look, at the length of his fingers or the sweep of his eyelashes. It’s all appealing. “I’m _not_ nice,” Cas says. “I’m difficult. I’ve been told I’m bad at tact.”

“I dunno about that. You say I’m not an asshole, I’m not ignorant that ain’t tellin’ the truth –”

“It’s telling the only truth I can see here.” His tone is soft and fierce at once. Dean’s suddenly struck by the fact that if they weren’t sitting across from each other at a table, Cas would reach forward and touch his shoulder, as a comfort. Only Dean’s shoulder, but he’d be touching him nevertheless, and they’d both be damn near breathlessly aware of it.

Whenever Dean thinks about relationships, lets his mind roll over the word, he wants to run. Bolt away, really. Not because he doesn’t want it, even if he’s sure most people assume he only wants to mess around, and he’s fine doing nothing to dissuade that assumption. It’s because he wants it too damn much.

It’s not a sexuality thing, at least. Dean knows there are other places out there that judge the hell out of you, or worse, for whoever you wanted to bang – or hold hands with, and frankly Dean’s _more_ down for that – and he’s thankful Unova, for the most part, doesn’t judge. He fucking hates labeling it, but he’s known he’s bisexual since he first started feeling attracted to anyone at all, and he hasn’t bothered to hide it much. Mary told him never to be ashamed of who he was, and he’s still working on that, but that’s one place where he hopes he’s been able to make her proud.

That hasn’t been the hard part, is the point. No, the hard part’s him finding someone of any gender that he wants to be with, and watching it all fall apart. 

He might have been young, and it might have been almost ten years ago, but he knows he loved Cassie, her wild hair and quick smile and fascination with the world even in tiny, quiet Village Bridge. But she didn’t have a Pokemon – they were nineteen, and most people got their Pokemon at twenty, it was normal – and John didn’t like Dean sneaking off to spend time with her, so Dean found himself _busy_ with _training_ all the time after a little while. A few years later, he found himself in the same situation with a girl named Lisa – fell fast, fell hard, fell the fuck away when John started expressing disapproval about it.

His only long-term experience with a guy was Aaron, a scruffy dude from Castelia. Despite the fact that their relationship only lasted two months, Aaron practically worshipped the ground Dean walked on. At that point in his life, Dean couldn’t handle someone like that. He didn’t understand where the hell that worship was coming from. 

Also goddamn if Aaron didn’t have some bizarre love-hate relationship with his Golurk. There was one pretty memorable time when Aaron broke away from Dean in the middle of a handjob to go into the other room and tell the Golurk he was getting the shelves all, in Aaron’s words, “ectoplasm-y.”

Dean wants to give his dad half-credit for disapproving of Aaron in the exact same way he disapproved of everyone else, at least. Kept telling Dean not to bother with any of that _romance crap_ when there was training to be done. Dean had a first-row seat to his dad’s life slowly seeping out because he’d lost his own love; he learned, quick, it was best not to get involved or attached at all.

There was Donnie, about a year ago, but that was just a couple of nights of fun. Dean’s still friendly with Donnie, actually, sometimes goes to his bar and lets Vaporeon run around with his Gible. The bar’s got a couple of Gastlys that slink around it late at night, so it was, in fact, Donnie that Dean told his awful joke about holy water to. 

Dean spent a night or two with plenty of other girls and guys throughout the years. He’d like to buy a drink for Rhonda Hurley even now, the chick a few years older than him who made him shimmy into her bright pink panties decorated with little Clefairies, which made him come so hard he blacked out and woke up still wearing that damned, blessed underwear. But all of it was transitory. It had to be. 

Cas sticks around, though. _I’m not so great_ , Dean wants to scream, but he doesn’t want to let Cas go, sever him quick from his life like what happened to too many others before him. 

So he just rides on the bus with Cas. They talk. 

“I’ve seen Dragonspiral Tower,” he tells Cas, counting off on his fingers, feeling like some impersonal tour guide. “Underground Ruins. Pinwheel Forest – even managed to sneak into Rumination Field. Just another field, really, and if you’ve seen one you’ve seen ‘em all.” That at least gets a Liberty Garden, God, my dad dragged me and my brother there at like five AM. They’re right about the gorgeous sunrise over the tower there, by the way. Dreamyard just freaked me out. Got _lost_ in the Giant Chasm –”

“Dean,” Cas says, and Dean immediately feels self-conscious at just how much he’s been babbling while saying nothing at all. “I care about these places. I do. But I care about what happened to _you_ there.” 

Dean’s taken aback. He’s not sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t _that_.

“I care about you,” Cas pushes on.

At least Dean’s able to manage a smile in response to that, however shaky. “Then I don’t wanna hear about _boarding school_ any more,” he tells Cas, because he’s been talking around the whole subject for a week now. He’s heard more than he ever wanted to hear about uniforms and schedules. “I care about what you did in boarding school.”

“I’m glad we agree,” Cas says, their gaze caught tight between each other. “Not that I had much of a good time in boarding school. All boys. Most of them didn’t accept, you know, a gay student very much.” Dean would expect a flinch from Cas, or his cheeks to flush. There’s none of it.

And so, Dean can smile back at him. It’s no relief to the tension; it only heats it up to a rattling heating valve. “That sucks, Cas. I would’ve taken care of them.” 

“Very protective,” Cas says, and it’s dry, but with honest admiration simmering behind it.

“No, it’s – I mean, that too, probably, but in this case, it’s, uh. It’s personal for me, too.”

“Because…”

“A few reasons, let’s just say that.”

 _Now_ Cas’ face colors at the peaks of his cheekbones. Damn good look.

Stupid looming precipice. 

It’s early the next morning when Cas looks at Dean and declares, “I think I may need some help grooming Staraptor.” Thankfully, the bus is pretty empty that morning, so no one’s gonna be bothered by the weird guys with the giant, haughty bird.

Staraptor does nothing but huff and glare at Dean at first, but Cas is the master of glaring right back. Soon enough, Dean’s got one of her wings lifted and he’s taking long, careful strokes to right some of the crooked feathers. Staraptor’s eyes have slipped shut, and her crest and downy chest feathers are doing something close to buzzing.

“Just like that,” Cas says, in a tone that makes Dean duck his head so Cas can’t see his cheeks warming up. They’re on a bus, in public. He’s not gonna think of Cas saying that in _certain other situations_. “She likes you.” 

When Dean looks up, Vaporeon’s looking back and forth between him, Staraptor, and Cas, with a seriously amused expression on her face. He tries not to smile back at her, but pretty miserably fails.

They’ve had a cop outside the entrance to the nursery the past few days. They used to be scrawny campus security guys, but now they’re real cops. The bus lanes have been clear the past few days – almost _too_ clear, _too_ easy to get through with the cops guiding traffic – but the protests must be getting bad. Whenever he’s on campus, even in the nursery, Dean hears indistinguishable chanting.

Today, he readies himself to keep his head down and rush past the cop like usual, when he does a double-take. A Mienshao guards the cop, the two of them looking outright bored. When Dean looks up, it’s Victor, the cop who delivered his dad’s letter and key.

Victor tips his head in recognition. It’s – yeah, this is awkward, but Dean finds himself walking over anyway.

“You here to break this up?” Dean asks. He jerks his chin in the direction of the protest. From this distance, all the students look like one mass.

At the question, Victor pauses for a moment. Even his Mienshao casts a wary eye on Dean. “No sir,” Victor says, slow and deliberate. “Just here to make the Pokemon stay safe.” The sun glints off his badge, displaying the four Swords of Justice.

“Good,” Dean says, and then he cringes because – great, Winchester, make it sound like you’re giving the cop orders. But Victor’s got a twitch of a grin on his face, so he definitely _gets_ it.

Victor becomes as much a part of the little makeshift family at Edlund Nursery as anyone else. Jody sneaks him cookies, and Benny sloppy joes; he guffaws when he listens to Tessa complaining about the asshole donors to Edlund, or when Charlie says anything. He even has a weird-ass friendship with Cas, one that mostly seems to revolve around the two of them not talking and glowering at things, but some of the more rowdy Pokemon in the center respond well to it, so Dean just watches it and grins. 

The days roll into weeks and months. Dean’s got friends now; Charlie drags him out to hang out with her and Gilda more weekends than not, and even if most of the time they just go along with Cas and Victor if he’s not busy to Benny’s diner and all split some cheese fries, it’s fun. Definitely way more normal than anything Dean’s ever known before. 

One time, Charlie orders a huge salad at Benny’s diner. “This is more tortilla chips and sour cream than lettuce, Lafitte!” she calls back to him, laughing. 

“You can blame me for that,” Benny’s wife Andrea says, popping her head out of the kitchen door. Her Dragonair’s been hanging out up front, the less usual customers oohing and aahing over it. “It’s what people want.”

“A woman after my own heart,” Charlie responds, looking right at Gilda and smiling softly. No one’s looking, so Dean snaps a picture of the salad, even though he knows it’s stupid. A few minutes later, he sends the picture on to Sam’s number, a similarly stupid message attached to it: _the marvels awaiting u in Opelucid_. 

He checks his phone nearly every minute after that, until Charlie’s giving him weird looks, but there’s no response from Sam. That one hurts even more than the rest. When he was acting pathetic and _needy_ about it, he could deal with Sammy freezing him out; getting the same cold silence when he’s joking around about salad wounds him. 

_Message send failure_ , an unknown number tells him in about an hour. Dean’s got no idea what to make of that.

He could swallow it down, though, and have his life trudge on like this. Him and Cas aren’t anything but friends, and even though it feels like they’re both walking across one hell of a tightrope all the time, Dean’s okay with that. 

“I’m taking this weekend off,” Gilda says, picking through her own, more modest salad while keeping one eye firmly trained on the communal plate of chili fries. “I think we need new sheets, right?”

Charlie nods with her mouth full. “Wanna go to Shopping Mall Nine?” 

Dean freezes, then flicks his eyes toward Cas. He’s munching away at his burger; there’s no jolt of recognition there. “I’ve never been,” he says, and Dean’s glad he’s not eating anything at the moment because he would have fucking choked on it.

What Dean’s _not_ okay with is pretending that night outside Shopping Mall Nine never happened. The night circles in his mind, churning round and round and leaving long bold streaks along the canvas of his memory instead of draining out. 

Maybe he shouldn’t be clinging so goddamn hard to what happened. Forgetting about it entirely is clearly working for _other_ people. But he just can’t let go that easily. Never could. 

Something’s gotta give.


	3. Chapter 3

Twenty-four hour shifts are a bitch. Dean pulled a couple of them with Benny early on, and even with Andrea showing up and Benny pulling out all the stops in the meager-ass kitchen the nursery had to make a damn delicious gumbo, the night passed too slowly and staying at work from noon to noon wiped him out. He spent the rest of the week in a total daze, and he’s lucky Cas overly fussed over him because he was terrified he would have dropped some of the baby Pokemon otherwise.

Delta takes a lot of the overnights, and somehow Dean’s not surprised that she loves working the part of the job that requires a minimum of small talk. But she’s got friends staying over her place for the next month or two, apparently, at least that’s what she told Jody and Tessa even if it was with a loud and suspicious cough. She’s left everyone else to take very grumbly turns on the day-long shifts. 

Dean’s next twenty-four hour shift is next Monday, so he’s settling in for the night when he gets a phone call. He figures it’s a wrong number, or some telemarketer. He usually humors the latter, because they always try to sell him shit like totes for Pokemon. Vaporeon wouldn’t stay in one of those for ten seconds. 

But it’s not a telemarketer at all. It’s Jody. 

“I need someone else to stay overnight with Cas,” Jody tells him, and even in her matter-of-fact voice, the words _with Cas_ sends a happy jolt through Dean, that gives way to a tangled maw in his stomach. “It’s his first time on the overnight shift, and it’s unfair to have him stay there alone. We wouldn’t ask any of the professors or student volunteers, and Benny and Charlie said they were busy.”

Dean has to hold back a snort at that. Benny probably really _was_ busy; between the diner and the nursery, Dean figures he snatches only a few hours of sleep a night. But he’d bet that Charlie miraculously discovered plans the minute Jody mentioned it was Cas staying overnight at the nursery. 

But the amusement fades away fast. The idea of him, Cas, and a nursery full of baby Pokemon who don’t know the entirety of what lies between them is very much a reality. Dean hears someone saying, on the phone, “Sure, I can do it. I’ll be there soon as I can.” It takes him a beat to realize it was him that said the words.

That’s how Dean finds himself riding the bus half an hour later, carrying an overnight bag and this stupid nervous feeling in his stomach. Vaporeon keeps grumbling at him, because _she_ certainly had plans, even if those plans were sitting in the tub at their apartment until she fell asleep. Whatever, she of all creatures in the world can deal with it.

The path to the nursery is quiet and dark. Dean should take the time to appreciate how pretty the campus is here at Edlund, now that the protesters have apparently broken up for the night, but his heart is thumping away in his chest too fast for him to linger too long in any one place. 

He hustles on to the nursery, only to stare at its door, painted a cheery red with a blotchy, amateur-looking Pikachu on it. (“It’s _charming_!” Jody insists, frequently. “It’s a _mess_!” Tessa insists right back.)

It’s just a long shift, he tells himself. With Cas. He’s worked with him before. It’s going to suck, but he’s going to get through it with minimal awkwardness. He can do it.

“Heeeeeere’s Johnny,” he calls out when he pushes the door open. Cas is sitting on the steps up to Jody’s office, gone dark in her absence, trying to swaddle a Lillipup. It’s no use, because that particular group of baby Pokemon only really listen to Benny’s Herdier, but damn if Dean doesn’t find it endearing that Cas is trying. 

“You are Dean,” Cas responds, and the combination of his eyes locked on Dean and Staraptor’s seriously unimpressed – as ever – glare is awfully intimidating. Dean still fights his own nerves to shoot both of them a smile.

“We gotta work on your pop culture references,” Dean says. He tries to keep his tone jocular, but he can hear the strain in it.

“We?”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t elaborate, because that’s his only hope of keeping distance between them. 

He wordlessly sits next to Cas on the stairs. The little path up to Jody’s office is narrow, so it doesn’t really fit both of them; Staraptor deepens her glare, then hops off to poke around in the dirt by one of the enclosures. So much for that distance Dean wanted; Cas’ body makes a hot line up Dean’s side, his hands bumping Dean’s own as they work together to wrap Lillipup in Sewaddle leaves. 

Even with the two of them attempting to hold the Lillipup down, he keeps squirming, kicking his leg out and wrecking the leaves to shreds when they do manage to get them around him. “This is impossible,” Dean grunts. “These guys only wanna follow Herdier.” Dean tries not to take any baby Pokemon not liking him, rare as it is, as a personal offense, but he miserably fails when it does happen.

“Impossible’s just a word.” Cas is smiling as he says it, though. He picks up Dean’s hand to guide their fingers together, and if he notices the way Dean’s pulse bolts like a jackrabbit at the easy way Cas plucks up his wrist, he thankfully doesn’t say anything.

Dean almost feels like he’s watching it happen rather than actually doing it, what with Cas so damn close, but they do get the leaf wrapped around the Lillipup’s hindquarters. He gives a yip of approval and snuggles into Dean’s lap. Vaporeon gives them both a withering look until Dean jerks his head, indicating she can crawl up too. There really isn’t room for all of them on the stairs, but Dean rearranges the Pokemon on his lap until Vaporeon is messily sprawled out there, the Lillipup helplessly flopped on top of her.

After a couple of seconds, Dean realizes Cas has been watching him and the Pokemon, that strange half-smile tipping up the corner of his mouth. Cas has never lost that same incomparably intense stare, the one Dean remembers from the night he saved his damn life. It sizzles through Dean’s body, sending every nerve on high-wire, at the same time it anchors him in place. 

“Cas,” Dean breathes. His voice is a tight knot he barely recognizes as he slides his hand back to tangle with Cas’ over Lillipup’s fur. In between them, Vaporeon practically buzzes. “What are we doing here?” 

Cas’ fingers fold around his; Dean puffs out one huge exhale that had been trapped up within him. Distance be damned. It’s better this way. “I could think of a lot of things,” Cas says in return. Said in a different tone, those words could be outright lascivious, and Dean would have a damn good time – for a night. And hey, he’s had his share of fun. But that’s not what he wants here.

“Glad we’re on the same page.” This is fucking absurd. Their eyes are practically locked together, so intense Dean could swoon, pathetically enough, and he can _feel_ Vaporeon trembling with excitement between them. It’s now or never, Dean guesses. “I just – I dunno why you’re pretending that night, outside Shopping Mall Nine, that it never happened.”

Cas shifts on the stairs. Dean doesn’t see him move so much, but he _feels_ him move because they’re so close, every minute movement of Cas’ echoed against Dean’s side, and that sends a zip right up his spine. “What are you talking about?” Cas asks. There’s no defensiveness in his voice, no hostility at all. It’s a legitimate question.

Shit.

Dean’s got no other option, especially not with Cas looking at him so damn intensely. “’Bout eight years ago,” he tells, “Dad and Sam and I were at Shopping Mall Nine. We got rooms there for the night. This little lady –” he takes the time to scoop Vaporeon closer to him – “wanted to go out in the middle of the night. There was a pool not far away.”

Cas’ head has tilted to the side, like he’s trying to figure out the story before Dean tells it to him. “I know they worked to make things safer at the mall, I was involved,” he says. That’s something Dean didn’t know, and even more affection for Cas shuffles its way into his system. “But it was dangerous at night.”

Dean manages a dark laugh at that. “You ever heard of Alastair Sid?” Cas looks visibly struck when Dean says the name, a darkness seeping into his eyes. “Yeah. He tried to recruit me while I was out with Vaporeon. Didn’t know who the guy was then, but I knew he was bad news. Brought a gang with him for, uh, further convincing.”

“How’d you get away?” Cas asks.

Dean’s heart rate ticks up. Now or never. “Got lucky enough that someone rescued me. Someone, uh, pretty amazing. Kickass Staraptor, and all, but what I really remember was him. And this crazy blue light he used to knock back Alastair and the goons he brought with him, when they wouldn’t stay down. Scary shit, but the way the guy fought ‘em off was incredible.” Realization dawns over Cas’ face, but Dean presses on anyway. “It was you, Cas. You and Staraptor. And you were – God, you were amazing. I never forgot. I _couldn’t_ forget.”

There’s a light lit in Cas’ blue eyes, a softness to his face, a fondness Dean would expect echoed on his own. It would be so easy to close the gap and kiss him, but Dean’s not going to do it without answers. 

“Thank you for telling me, Dean,” he says. His hand hasn’t left Dean’s. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you. I am sure, from what I know of you, that you did your part in fighting off a man as powerful and _evil_ as Alastair, and his followers. It’s an incredible story, but – I’m so sorry, I still don’t – remember it.” 

Dean’s childhood overflowed with lying. He’s done it, over and over again, while smiling right in people’s faces. He lied about where he was going, if that Pokemon was really his, where his parents were, what he ate yesterday, why he wasn’t in school. Where those scratches came from. If he was alright.

As the saying goes, you can’t bullshit a bullshitter. And Cas isn’t lying, Dean can tell, he truly isn’t. Why that makes his chest feel like it might cave in, Dean can’t say. 

Dean tries to smile. It’s not working too well. Even Staraptor’s looking at him with an expression on her face that’s something approaching pity, and if she looks anything other than furious or existentially bored something’s wrong. “It’s alright,” he says, even though it’s – not, really. He’s not even thinking about himself, but about Castiel, about why in the world he wouldn’t _remember_ that. Everything’s so fucked up.

“Dean.” Cas leans in close again. They’re always so close; Dean knows how warm Cas’ body is, despite the fact that the most he’s touched is his shoulder. “I’m sure if I met you, at any point, I would remember you. You’re not easily forgettable. Not to me.” 

Fuck. Dean totally isn’t _blushing_ at that, his own skin almost as hot as Castiel’s. “You sure do know how to make a guy feel special,” he says. Always shuffling off actual feelings with humor before they can take root in him too deeply. Best not to get too attached, is what he’s learned, as much as he wants it. 

Dean doesn’t even want to worry about the getting attached thing right now. He suspects that’s a losing battle. All he wants to do is kiss the guy. 

Cas sounds both exasperated and amused, a tone Dean could get used to hearing, when he tells Dean, in return, “Not just _any guy_.” 

“I – thanks, Cas.” His voice is rough and sleepy, but Dean really should kiss him. He’s sure, in that moment, that he’ll never get another chance. What he ends up blurting out, though, because he’s the paradigm of fuck-ups, is, “I think we could do with some dinner now, yeah?” It’s practically a nervous tick, but he could smack himself out of frustration.

Cas, for his part, transitions smoothly. “I bought White Castle.”

Dean beams. “Man after my own heart.” The smile collapses when he realizes how accurate that statement is.

They sit at the sorta rickety table – Dean, part-time mechanical engineer, has tried to fix the short leg upwards of five times, but the next day it’s always rickety all over again – with the cheap overhead light and gorge themselves on the White Castle burgers Cas bought. He’s got three of the clear plastic bags, each of them stuffed with burgers, and they scarf them down together. Vaporeon nibbles at one, but mostly looks horrified. For her part, Staraptor apparently doesn’t give a shit and gulps down three burgers whole.

That’s their first date.

It’s kind of great. 

“Dude, were you going to eat all of these?” Dean asks when they’ve finished. He pats his belly and belches, because he’s a charmer like that. Cas is still giving him what Charlie would gleefully call _hearteyes_. Dean’s not sure what he did to deserve it.

Cas stays quiet. But he smiles at Dean, and that’s enough to answer the question. “We should check on the Wynaut.”

The Wynaut that they have at the nursery are as much of an attraction as they ever get here. They’re the rarest Pokemon they have, so the visiting kids insist on looking at them because they’re not likely to see them in the wild. Thing is, Wynaut and its evolution Wobbuffet are so rare because they’re debilitatingly _shy_ and live in the darkest corners of far-off caves. When the center’s open, the Wynaut huddle in a makeshift cave in their enclosure, nothing like the caves they inhabit in the wild but enough to keep them hidden from sight, and shuffle away any time anyone gets a good view of them. 

Now, though, the Wynaut are asleep, collapsed across the floor of their enclosure. A couple of them have crammed into the enclosure’s cave even now. Their big mouths open and shut, almost comically, with every breath they take. “I feel bad for the little guys,” Dean says, keeping his voice low so he doesn’t wake the Wynaut up and send them scattering. “The kids that try and see ‘em – they mean well, but they’re terrorizing them just by being here.” 

“We’ll have to leave a note for Jody and Tessa to watch out for the children bothering them.” Dean shouldn’t be so stupidly excited by Cas using _we_. 

“You can scare ‘em away,” Dean jokes, and when he looks over to Cas, the guy is grinning. He’s never seen a smile that wide on Cas’ face, and the thought of that sends a fierce fissure through Dean. Cas’ smile, his real smile, is wide and gummy and, Dean thinks, goddamn beautiful.

They wander through the nursery. Most of the Pokemon are asleep; it’s way more quiet than it ever is during the daytime, when chirps and squeals and syllables of Pokemon names fill the space, practically making a solid form in and of themselves. “Nice night,” Dean says. There were heavy clouds in the sky when he came in; he could see them, even though it was night. There’s rain in the forecast the next few days. But yeah, it’s a nice night.

“I think so too.” 

Because Dean likes his job so much, it hardly ever seems like serious _work_ , even when they make him shovel dung out of the enclosures. But one of the harder aspects of it is watching out for the baby Flying-type Pokemon in the aviary. Many of them are too young to have functional wings yet, or they ended up in the nursery because they’re injured and unable to fly.

There’s a not-insignificant handful, however, who do have full use of their wings, and they’re constantly escaping the aviary. It’s usually not too long before they return to the pretty glass dome, set back from the rest of the nursery floor, because for these little ones, food and care and company is way better than wobbly attempts at flying. But when Dean’s at work, he’s on the watch-out for any temporary escapees. A lot of them have a bad habit of tangling up in people’s hair, and then blissfully sitting there. 

Dean’s understandably not thinking of that, though, which is why it’s such a surprise when he practically gets a faceful of Woobat turning a corner.

There are a lot of Woobat in the center. They put everyone in a good mood, with their adorable puffball bodies and naturally cheerful demeanor. It’s not rare for inexperienced trainers to choose them as their Pokemon, only to find out Woobat aren’t the best battlers but are hyper-attached to their owners to the point of clinginess; unfortunately, far too many of them get dumped at shelters. Dean doesn’t mind the clinginess; there have been a couple of times when Dean’s getting ready to leave, only to have Charlie collect a Woobat that’s been clinging to his sleeve. 

Most of the Woobat aren’t good flyers, because even as adults they’re not remotely aerodynamic, but this little girl apparently is. Fast, too. Before Dean can react, she’s made a beeline right for the nook between Dean’s shoulder and neck, and latching right onto his cheek with her big heart-shaped stamp of a nose. 

He knows he’s already flushed practically neon pink, and remembering the fact that Woobat are naturally drawn to where they can sense affection and more specifically attraction isn’t exactly helping. “A little help,” Dean gasps. He tells himself the noise he made was _not_ a squeak.

Cas laughs, which is cruel and unusual punishment, but one Dean probably figures he deserves for ending up in this ridiculous situation. Then, his hands are reaching around the Woobat’s round, fluffy body – his hands are big enough to circle the Woobat entirely, but gentle enough that her eyes slip shut and she coos in happiness with how careful he is, and Dean is fucking screwed – and pulling her away. He tucks her, careful again, under his arm. 

“Got a little –” Now Cas is smiling, close-lipped and not wide but definitely a smile, and fuck, his fingers are on Dean’s face. They’re tracing the distinct shape of a heart. Dean feels his own pick up in response. Cas is just telling him Woobat’s cheek kiss left her nose print, Dean reminds himself. That’s all this is.

But then Cas’ fingers stay there, two of them against Dean’s cheek, and Dean’s remembering the way those fingers felt twined around his own. Okay, maybe it’s more than that. 

Cas removes his fingers as unexpectedly as he’d placed them there, and Dean – well, now he’s man enough to admit to himself that he pouts _dramatically_ behind Cas’ back as Cas walks the Woobat back to the aviary. Most of the time, Cas is a grumpy bedhead, but seeing him like this sends a stupid thrill to Dean’s gut and head alike. 

He’s not even gonna think about what it does to his heart.

The other Woobat clump around their wayward littermate and coo _woo woo_ in absurd squeaky voices. It’s disgustingly adorable, and Dean knows he’s smiling way too wide at the display in front of him. He’d be self-conscious about it, if he didn’t have the gut feeling that Cas wouldn’t judge him one bit for it. If Cas wasn’t standing right there next to him, smiling too. 

Watching the Woobat settle down to sleep, Dean suddenly notices that his own Pokemon is out of sight. He’s not worried, because she wouldn’t have left the center, but the nursery is huge and there’s still a lot of ground to cover on the floor. Staraptor’s disappeared, too. He turns to Cas and asks, “Where the hell are Vaporeon and Staraptor?” 

“Good question.” 

They don’t have to walk far. On the steps leading up to Jody’s office, Vaporeon and Staraptor are curled up next to each other and fast asleep. 

Saying the two Pokemon are merely sleeping next to each other doesn’t quite do their closeness justice. They’re practically growing into each other, to the point where they look like one long blue and tawny braid. Staraptor’s feathers are sticking to Vaporeon’s skin. Their breaths rise and fall together, soft and steady. Staraptor cracks an eye open when they approach, but much to Dean’s surprise, she doesn’t do anything other than go right back to sleep without so much as a grunt.

Most tame Pokemon are trained to be distantly friendly with other Pokemon unless they’re family, or their owners give them permission to play. What’s in front of Dean is a total rarity; in general, Pokemon don’t end up coiled around each other, especially just to go lax in sleep. Not unless their owners are awfully close.

Dean thinks about the way Vaporeon practically hummed in excitement when he linked hands with Castiel. Staraptor let Dean groom her and didn’t grumble too much about it. He isn’t surprised that Vaporeon and Staraptor got here before he could with Cas.

“I’m sure you know this, but Staraptor are one of the proudest Pokemon species,” Cas says, his eyes on the exhausted Pokemon knot in front of him. “I love her very much, but I can confirm this. Sitting against Vaporeon like that – it’s going to get her feathers wet.” _Sitting_ doesn’t really do it justice. “She probably won’t like it much.”

“Uh, sorry.” Sure, he says it, he doesn’t mean it, and he’s pretty sure Cas can tell. Tension sizzles behind his words. Dean’s really gone on Cas, but he still feels himself getting defensive over Vaporeon before just about anyone, and he knows she’s sometimes single-mindedly protective of him. That’s what happens when you go through unthinkable heaps of shit together for nearly twenty years. 

At that, Cas turns a small smile in Dean’s direction, and he falls for the guy all over again. “No apologies necessary. I doubt she minds now, is my point.” 

Dean knows he should probably move along; there are so many other Pokemon enclosures to check, and it’s getting late. But they stay staring at the tableau in front of them, Vaporeon’s paws curled carefully in something like an embrace and Staraptor wrapped around her best she can. 

Little beads of water glint off her feathers. She isn’t moving or squalling at all. A smile ticks up the side of Dean’s mouth.

“Vaporeon wouldn’t mind, either,” Dean says. “She’s – best judge of character I ever met.” 

He remembers his heart rattling in his chest as he bolted away from Cas that night, only to look back and find Vaporeon looking back at him from Cas’ side with her head tilted. _Come back here, you idiot_ , she didn’t say, but she might as well have. Without Vaporeon, eight years ago on a night Cas doesn’t remember, Dean could never be here. 

It’s fucking cheesy as anything he’s ever done, but secretly Dean _likes_ cheesy, so he reaches his hand out and takes Cas’ in his own. That’s how they walk through the nursery together. Vaporeon isn’t leaving her wet footprints behind Dean, and Cas’ Staraptor doesn’t circle above their heads in her eternal quiet judgment, but for right now, it’s alright. The two of them together, it’s more than alright. 

*

There is one bed in the Edlund Pokemon nursery.

Okay, so there’s a couch too. It’s not even all that uncomfortable; Dean spent most of the time sleeping on the twenty-four hour shifts on that same couch, because Gilda would come over for Charlie and Andrea would show up if Benny was doing the overnight too. Didn’t even wake up with a crick in his back or anything. 

But right now, Dean’s ignoring the couch, and so’s Cas. They’re standing in front of the bed, which stretches out before them like a very pointed question. The only answer Dean has to offer at the moment is a very articulate, “Umm…” 

“I can take the couch,” Cas offers. It doesn’t make Dean feel any better, surprisingly. Fuckin’ agony, the idea of spending a night sleeping in the same space as Cas, hearing him breathing through the night, having him only a couple of footsteps away, but not _there_. Not where Dean needs him.

“Nah. I can. Used to it, you know.” That’s no solution either, but Dean’s spent a good portion of his life catching rest on stuff way less suited for sleep than that sofa. Cas’ mouth pops open, and Dean’s sort of impressed that he’s able to keep talking and not find himself too distracted by its proximity and the shiny spot on the bottom lip. “I insist. Seriously.” 

Cas nods, but he doesn’t look too happy about it. Then, because the guy’s apparently fucking evil, he swiftly unbuttons his pants and tugs them down, leaving him in just – well, Dean knows he wears boxer briefs now. They’re gray and cling to his thighs, which are thicker than Dean was expecting, the lines of muscle in them clear.

Unfortunately, Dean doesn’t get a good look at those, because Cas climbs right into bed. Cas moves fast when he wants to, and once he’s pulled the sheets up over his body he stares back out at Dean, his joltingly blue eyes and shock of brown hair. Staraptor’s settled on the other side of the bed, her head tucked under her wing, already well on the way to sleep.

“Goodnight,” Dean says. It’s weird. This is weird. It hasn’t been weird all night, but of course, it’s gonna end weird. Goddamn it.

He brushes his teeth, gets into his pajamas, and takes his last piss for the night in the adjoining bathroom. Vaporeon perches on the tiny tub they have there and coos when Dean flicks water on her. Most of the time, though, Dean’s just thinking about Cas in the other room. The sheets were thin over him, and Dean could probably get an idea of the shape of his body –

“Dean.” 

“What.” He’s left the bathroom. By now, he’s halfway to the sofa, all his bedding and pillows draped around his arms.

Cas, for his part, just lifts up the corner of the bedsheets. Dean’s heartbeat kicks up until the point where it’s little more than a buzz rattling inside him. 

“If you want to,” Cas says after – God knows how much time it must have been for Dean to do nothing but _stand_ there and goggle. Normally, Cas’ voice has a thread of insistence woven through, but it’s gone now, so Dean’s guessing it was more than just a couple of seconds. 

But then, Dean finds himself saying, “I do, I really do,” and he’s sliding into the bed next to Cas. There isn’t anything untoward about it. He’s wearing the Henley he wore during the day, smelling like wood chips from the center and salt from the ocean, the scent that sticks to Vaporeon. He’s got thick pajama pants on, too. But he feels naked. Worse than naked, he feels flayed, peeled open, and exposed by little more than Cas’ eyes on him. 

He’s got no idea what he can do here. Everyone who works in the center all shook on not _doing_ anything in the bed except sleeping, which seemed like a supremely good idea when they’d likely all have to spend a night in it eventually. With a barnyard floor of Pokemon outside, Dean’s not exactly struck by the desire to _do_ anything, either, but Cas’ body is so warm even though they’re barely touching. 

“I really like you,” Dean says. His voice drags with sleep, but it’s still genuine. He can’t even keep his eyes all the way open, but at least he’s squinting, because seeing the mess of Cas’ hair and his sleepy eyes seems of paramount importance. “’First, I worried it was some hero-worship thing. What happened outside Shopping Mall Nine, even if you don’t – point is, that’s not why I like you. It’s just you. You’re stubborn and I love it. Sense of humor could kill someone, man. And you care, so damn much.” 

Cas moves his ankle so it’s hooked around Dean’s. It’s an easy, innocent weight, and one Dean practically fucking treasures. “At first, I thought I just might be falling for a very good-looking man.” Dean feels his face heat; he’s aware he’s good-looking and not particularly shy about it, but there’s being aware and then there’s Cas flat-out telling him that. “But you’re – you’re good with the Pokemon, and kids, and you’re kind.” One of those small smiles crosses his face. “Even if I don’t think you want to hear these things about yourself, you are.” 

“I’m tellin’ you. Charmer.”

“You’re very wrong.” Cas shrugs forward a couple of inches, but it’s enough to press their chests together. They’re this warm with way too many clothes on, and Dean aches for skin on skin. “I’ll kiss you in the morning, if you don’t mind.”

A flare of warmth alights through Dean’s entire body. “Okay,” he says, returning Cas’ smile with his own.

“Okay,” Cas repeats, and that word is everything. His fingers close around Dean’s again. 

They fall asleep like that, together.

Cas isn’t next to him when Dean wakes up. Dean blinks awake to find the other side of the bed has turned into – it’s stupid, but it feels like a vast cold ocean, one even Vaporeon would skitter away from. 

It’s not that big a bed. He can stretch out his arm and hit the edge. Doesn’t matter. It just feels too big right now. 

Maybe, though, he realizes as he stretches his legs out, it’s not quite so big. Or, in the middle of that ocean, he found a raft, and little as it is he can ride it all the way to land. 

Cas sits up on the edge of the bed, his eyes on Dean. He definitely sees Dean wake up and stretch, roll over in bed so he’s on his back and not his side, but he keeps staring. He hardly even blinks.

“Kinda creepy, dude,” Dean says, but there’s no real insistence in his voice. He still sounds sleep-drunk. Cas’ staring could be creepy, if it was coming from almost anybody else, but Cas has such warmth in his eyes that Dean finds himself falling, falling, falling. Dean remembers all those ridiculous fleeting glances between the two of them, but right now, it’s kind of like Cas is taking the opportunity to take that one long look he didn’t have before now.

So Dean looks right back. Can’t blame him.

When he sits up – one fluid motion, thank you very much, he’s actually impressed with his own smoothness – and kisses Cas, it should feel weird, after everything. There’s _still_ a ton that’s unresolved between them. But when Dean’s here, the sheets still rucked up around his stomach and Cas’ hand curved carefully around the back of his neck, none of it matters. 

Cas kisses him both careful and fierce; he kisses with calculation, making happy grunts into Dean’s mouth when he draws a noise out of Dean. But his hands shake against Dean’s body, too. He tugs Dean with him a bit and slides along with him when Dean has to move. 

Dean feels absolutely goddamn pummeled, and so fucking good. 

He doesn’t want to have to break apart, but it’s worth it when he gets to see Cas this close. His hair is messy from Dean’s fingers and his lips look even poofier than usual. Most things look good on Cas, Dean wanted to curl up against the guy whether he was in a three-piece suit or a hoodie, but this is the best look he’s had yet. 

“Good morning,” Cas says, still touching Dean’s neck. He must be able to feel Dean’s pulse going _tick tick tick_ , fast enough to scare too many people away, but his fingers don’t move, and Dean is grateful for it.

“It is good.” Dean’s laughing, he’s actually laughing.

When he gets dressed, he pulls his henley off well aware Cas’ eyes are on him, tracing over the broad lines of his shoulders and the twin bumps of his shoulderblades. His back isn’t as covered with tattoos as his arms are, but a couple of them are definitely visible from the back; he’s also got his dad’s dog tags tattooed over his hip, because he’s nothing if not an overly sentimental sucker, even for people who didn’t deserve it. He knows he has a cluster of freckles at the small of his back, and the idea of Cas’ eyes zeroing in on them makes a hunger rise up in him, swift and vehement.

Too late, he wonders what Cas’ chest looks like, but when he turns around Cas has just finished shrugging into his navy sweater. Dean still catches a glimpse of flat, muscular tummy that he could so, so easily run his tongue over. 

“Jody texted me,” Cas says. “She’ll be here within an hour or so. She thinks we could go home after that.” 

There’s a lot Dean could do with an hour. But, again, even with Cas present, it’s hard to get in the mood when he’s in a barn full of baby animals. He’s pretty sure he’ll have no problems revving it up later, and he’s got the whole day stretched in front of him. Hopefully Cas, soon, too.

Dean wills himself to calm down, and after he makes the bed with Cas – it feels so _domestic_ , the kind of thing he hasn’t had in decades – he leads him outside of the little bedroom to the kitchen. Vaporeon practically bowls the two of them over, which does funny things to Dean’s heart all over again. Staraptor barely acknowledges their existence, because of course she does, but later, she eats some food Dean gives her. Which, from Staraptor, is basically a perfume-scented, cartoon-heart-studded love confession. 

In the fridge, there are eggs and bacon, with a note that reads _Thanks. -Tessa_ on top of them. Tessa rules, but Dean already knew that.

Dean is carefully tending to their breakfast, when he feels Cas peering over his shoulder. “It’s just eggs,” Dean says, sheepishly.

“Not just that,” Cas insists. Dean’s gonna have to ask him to stop doing that after _every_ self-deprecating comment he makes. But then he loses all possible trains of thought when Cas gets his hands on Dean’s waist. Dean knows he’s thick there, thicker than he’d like to be, but nobody’s complained so far and Cas’ hands span far more of it than he expected. “If you don’t mind –”

“Not a bit,” Dean murmurs. It’s a wonder he can still flip the eggs. Cas stays practically attached to his waist, which is objectively totally weird. Over his shoulder isn’t much of a vantage point, either. But Dean doesn’t mind it one bit. The kitchen’s painted a cheery yellow to match the egg yolks, it smells good in the room with the sizzling bacon and eggs, and Cas’ hands are so warm. He’s wanted them in way more places than just skimming over his t-shirt, anyway. 

Breakfast is kind of quiet, considering. They’re both still tired. “You’re a good cook,” Cas says.

“It’s just eggs.” He’s smiling anyway. 

“I’d probably burn my apartment down if I tried to make anything like this. Big kitchen, no idea what to do with it.” 

Dean hesitates. He usually doesn’t, but Cas isn’t just anyone. “I could help you out if I came over. When we’re done here.”

“I’m sure you can.” Cas has that tone to his voice, the one where Dean can’t tell if he’s trying to be deliberately seductive or messing around with Dean – or, honestly the most likely, completely unaware of what he’s saying and how he’s saying it. After all, they’re talking about goddamn eggs. 

At any rate, Cas is smiling. Dean’s not imagining that.

Jody walks in not much later, Grotle struggling his way up the stairs behind her. She gives Dean and Cas a wry look. It’s a quick one, but it makes Dean realize he’s never gonna be able to hide this thing between him and Cas for very long. Not that he ever could, on his part. 

“Thanks for the overnight, guys. Any problems?” Dean appreciates that Jody’s got two cups of coffee in her hands. Normally, he can relate, even if he’s buzzing on nothing but endorphins and adrenaline and _proximity_ this morning. 

“Only a stray Woobat. We returned it to the enclosure.” Cas has a little private smile on his face, and Dean can’t help but mirror it.

“Great.” Jody cracks open the fridge and starts rooting around for something to eat. Dean notices she doesn’t even try to come in between the two of them and the eggs and bacon. He’s oddly touched, warmed by something that has nothing to do with his closeness to Cas, but also a little embarrassed at how obvious they probably are. “I got an early start this morning, as you can see. So did he, believe it or not.” Grotle’s snoozing in a corner of the kitchen, his snoring sounds lifting and falling away. “You can get out of here when you’re done eating, if you want.” 

Cas raises his gaze to look straight at Dean. “Let’s get out of here,” he says, and even though they’re in a sunny, delectable-smelling kitchen, even though Jody and all their Pokemon are around, the world falls back and away until it’s just the two of them, Cas’ unreal blue eyes cutting through everything else.

“Good idea,” Dean returns, amazed at how even he can keep his voice.

When they leave, Dean expects to get slammed into a wall. Or more kisses he’d dissolve right into, smooth and easy. What he gets is Cas walking as steadily as he usually does, Staraptor bobbing up and down on his shoulder. She turns around to peer at him, a challenge, and that’s what keeps Dean following Cas. 

He sticks close to Cas, who’s remaining silent. Dean’s not sure if it’s tension between them, or awkwardness. Or maybe the tension broke, and there’s nothing left now. Inside the center, when it was just the two of them, it was so easy, but now he’s wondering if he was imagining all of it – 

“My place?” Cas asks. They’re in public now, but the curve of a smile on Cas’ lips still has a private tilt to it. 

Dean answers it with a big grin of his own, all teeth. “We’ll cook up something real good.” 

“Subtle,” Cas says, but he’s nevertheless winding his arm around Dean’s back and steering him in the direction of the bus stop.

It’s early in the morning, and the buses have just started to run. A couple of protesters are gathering, but not enough to block the lanes. “Keep expecting to see that Claire girl again,” Dean murmurs, as they get on a bus rolling by. It’s empty, save the bus driver and her Bagon.

“Me too. I hope she’s alright.” 

“I hope she’s taking the day off,” Dean says, then realizes how spiteful that sounded. “I mean resting. Hope she’s not in too much –”

“Trouble.” Cas’ voice is tinged dark. Maybe it wasn’t only Dean who related to Claire somehow.

Vaporeon’s tail twitches and she shoots Dean a sleepy glare. Most mornings, Dean wakes up and fills the tub in his apartment so she can soak in it. “Sorry, girl,” he murmurs to her. She gives him another look – this one, Dean chooses to interpret as understanding – and crawls into the empty seats. Staraptor takes her perch next to her. They don’t stay as close as they were at the nursery, not so intertwined, but he can see Staraptor’s feathers gleam wetly from where they’re brushing against Vaporeon’s skin.

No. He wasn’t imagining it. He wasn’t imagining it at all.

“You know about trouble?” 

Cas nods his head. Then, unprompted, he says, “Let me tell you about my family. I may not remember – what happened outside the mall. But I can tell you what I do know.” 

Dean reaches his hand down to curl against Cas’ hand. He doesn’t quite hold it, but he lets his fingers sweep the stretch of Cas’ palm. Everything about him is almost impossibly fascinating to Dean, but above all his hands and eyes.

“Opelucid is obsessed with Dragon-types,” Cas continues. His voice is low. The bus driver is concentrating on driving the bus, but there’s no reason to call her attention.

“Tell me about it.” Apart from the threat of Alastair, who could have been lurking anywhere, it’s a big reason why Dean hesitated to move to Opelucid. Most people in the Pokemon world show some interest in Dragon-type Pokemon. It’s almost impossible not to; they’re rare and supremely powerful. Even one of the weaker ones, like Druddigon, is quite formidable in person, steam curling up from its nostrils and sporting rock skin. 

But Opelucid takes _interest_ to _obsession_. Dean lives on one of the few streets not named after Dragon-type Pokemon, Dragon-type moves, or famous Dragon-type trainers. There are multiple local news channels dedicated to spotting Dragon-types, and while the local Pokemon contests aren’t as big in Unova as they are in Hoenn, Opelucid’s got a thriving contest that takes place every November – and while other types aren’t banned, it’s total futility to apply with anything other than a Dragon.

And, of course, the battling. Almost every notable Dragon-type trainer came from Opelucid, and the few that didn’t were utterly reviled by the city in some sort of misplaced jealousy. Dean hated the ridiculous training John shoved him and Sam through with Vaporeon and Espeon, but he knows that training didn’t have _shit_ on Opelucid’s vicious Pokemon gyms. He would have gotten his ass kicked out of those before he was twenty-two, he’s sure of it. 

Andrea owns a Dragonair, and a Pokemon that powerful would have made her close to famous in quiet Village Bridge. Here in Opelucid, though, she’s just another trainer with a Dragon type, and not even a fully-evolved one. Dean sees four or five Dragonairs a day, and even a couple of Dragonites.

The danger of Dragons lies within not only the training, but the Dragon types themselves. Most of them live in humongous caves riddled with obstacles, pitfalls and knifeblade rocks and zigzags away from the light, far off any path humans would ever bother to go on; every year, too many trainers leave the cities in order to catch Dragons, and never return. 

“My biological parents went to catch an Axew in Mistralton Cave,” Cas says, wrenchingly slow, “or so I’m told, anyway. I don’t remember them.” Dean tries not to cringe at the last sentence, but he’s pretty sure he fails.

Most of the time, instead of feeling like a goddamn human being, Dean feels like a limp sweater made of stitches labeled _John_ and _Sam_ and, in his better moments, _Mary_. Many of Dean’s thoughts about his family weren’t exactly _positive_ , sure, but – they were there. Yes, he has the memory of John keeping a wary eye on him while Vaporeon took on an likely overleveled Luxio, not out of concern but because he was waiting to let Dean hear it if he showed a second of weakness, but he also has the memory of Mary splashing in the pond by their house with him and letting him dry his hands off on Leafeon’s fern tail. 

He has so many memories of Sam. He’s there as a kid with feet too big for him carrying his Eevee all around Unova, as the teenager who rebelled by going to the library and studying for hours, as the young man who sent his Espeon out into battle with a sharper look behind his eyes than Dean would have liked. At their dad’s funeral. All of it is Sam.

There’s so _much_ there, and a world without it seems like an endless, terrifying yawn.

“What about Anna?” 

“She doesn’t remember them either, even though she’s older. We were sent to live with Zachariah Adler for a long time.”

“Zachariah Adler,” Dean repeats. The guy’s local ads for legal services are everywhere. He’s got a big ugly smile and a cheap suit. Dean can practically feel the unctuousness oozing from his every pore through the TV screen. “The guy with the crappy commercials?”

“Regrettably.” Cas may not be the touchy-feely type with the baby Pokemon at the nursery, not like Dean is. But if he grew up with that asshat Zachariah, it’s amazing he has any compassion at all, nevertheless the wells of it he draws from day in and day out. “He owns most of the foster homes here in Opelucid. Don’t you know, it’s a _profitable business_ , with so many _orphans_.” Cas spits his words, and the bus driver’s Bagon raises his head to peer at them before drooping back down, looking just as tired as Vaporeon and Staraptor.

“I’m sorry.” Dean is, he really really is. “My dad, he – he could be a real piece of work, but not like that.” Again, he lets his hand curl around Castiel’s. Outwardly, Cas doesn’t react much – the guy is good at running hot and passionate as Dean one moment, and marble statue cold the next – but his fingers squeeze Dean’s.

“It could have been worse,” Cas continues, “Zachariah wasn’t around much. He’s – quite ingratiating –”

“That’s the word I was thinkin’ of.” 

Cas nods, outright emphatic. Dean could swear a smile quickly flickers across his face. “It meant he was always off on a business trip. You may have seen my _favored_ siblings Michael and Raphael on the news as well.” 

Dean has. They don’t seem as bad as Zachariah, but their faces remind Dean of expertly-painted masks, where they pass for human but have no real expression at all. They’re both government figures, though Dean knows nothing about what they do other than lord over the city. Michael has a practically-worshipped Dragonite, and Raphael an Altaria, so in Opelucid, they can get away with that shit.

“They’re older than I am, and were out of the house by the time I was thirteen. To be honest, I don’t know either of them very well. Zachariah constantly held them up as role models, _doing something with their lives_. Zachariah may have given Anna hell for asking for a Pidgey as her first Pokemon, but it’s nothing compared to the way Michael has rejected her for it. After all, he got a Dratini.” Cas’ voice winds tighter and tighter, until Dean finds himself expecting an explosion right there.

“Well, she’s way cooler than that asshole,” Dean says, puffing his bravado out like Staraptor’s feathers. “You can tell her I said that.” 

Dean might be acting like a macho douchebag, even if it’s for effect, but it earns a smile from Cas anyway. “I think we all found our ways to rebel,” Cas continues. “None of us would take a dime after we moved out. I work in a Pokemon nursery, and Anna works rehabilitating Flying-types. The last time I spoke to Zachariah, he called me a bleeding-heart liberal. He likely told Anna the same thing.”

“That’s awesome.”

“I know.” Dean laughs out loud at that, because it was so unexpected. “Uriel could be like Michael, if he wanted. He’s quite competent. Charismatic. Uriel doesn’t want that, he’s not interested in the power. He works in anti-trust laws now, and I suspect a big part of that is he enjoys the legal right to step on Zachariah’s toes. Hannah researches plants for optimal Pokemon growth, but it’s not for battling. They do it so the Pokemon are happy. That makes Zachariah _furious_.”

Dean’s just laughing now. “Dude,” he says. “Your family’s either the goddamn worst, or the best. I gotta meet some of these guys. Zach too. So I can punch him in the face.”

Cas isn’t laughing; in fact, he’s quite silent. But there’s a small smile on his face, one that’s so damn _fond_ it makes Dean cut his laughter off and gives Dean an itch right in his thigh. Damn, he wishes they were at Cas’ apartment already. 

“You’re wonderful, Dean,” Cas tells him, at last, quite plainly but in a way that blooms color on Dean’s cheeks.

“Uh, same, Cas,” Dean says, sputtering but genuine. They’re not – right now, they’re not much of anything. They’re two guys with a weird nebulous history who kissed once. But here, Dean grabs hold of the moment, and kisses him a second time like this is a thing they do every day.

By the wild thumping in Dean’s chest and the look on Cas’ face when they break away, hands still on each other’s faces in a way that’s way too desperate for this time in the morning and this little they know each other, this just might be something after all. 

*

Cas has a much nicer apartment than Dean’s, and considering both their backgrounds, this isn’t surprising. The lobby to the building was marble, with a guard who just smiled at them once he recognized Cas and soft yellow light. Cas’ apartment is the type you see in magazines, blonde wood and wide windows. But of course, there’s paper wrappers scattered on the sofa, and there are some circular black rugs strewn around the floor in no pattern at all. Dean grins. Good ol’ Cas. 

Vaporeon’s taken aback by the new surroundings, blinking at the assault of morning sun in her eyes, but after she’s thoroughly poked around for a couple of minutes, she’s as comfortable lolling on the hardwood floors here as she is in Dean’s place. He looks at Cas warily, expecting him to say something about the wet footprints she leaves behind, but he doesn’t do anything but smiling at her. 

Staraptor, on the other hand, takes to the rafters of Cas’ apartment. Dean traces her flight path up, until he realizes she’s aiming straight for a seriously huge swinging perch, with an indent in the middle that perfectly fits her bulk. She settles in, and for once, looks completely comfortable and pleased. 

There’s a big terrarium set up along one of the walls, between two windows. It’s somehow both way overgrown and meticulously upkept, where the plants toward the bottom are meticulously trimmed and there are no brown spots to be seen, it’s all verdant green, but fingers of vines creep up the grass sides. A tiny tin watering can perches on the nearby windowsill, and Dean can’t help but smile at the idea of Cas meticulously caring for a bunch of plants, gently sprinkling water over the terrarium.

As for his kitchen, Cas wasn’t kidding. It _is_ a big kitchen. Looks cozy, too, painted in soft green and yellow that Dean wouldn’t have really expected from him, and doubts Staraptor even tolerates. 

“Always wanted to adopt an Oddish or Bellsprout or two,” he says, as he notices Dean eyeing the terrarium and watering can. “Likely wouldn’t get along with Staraptor, though.”

“Likely not,” Dean chuckles. For once, though, she’s dozing. It’s _Vaporeon_ who sticks her nose up in the air and makes a snort of dismissal. “Grass types, huh?” She bats him with her tail.

Dean looks up to see Cas smiling at the two of them. “The truth is,” Cas says, “I don’t even have eggs. Are you disappointed?” He’s leaning against one of the walls, arms at his sides, and Dean takes a moment to appreciate the lines of his body exhibited so starkly.

Then, though, he bends to inspect the fridge. There’s only ketchup, some take-out containers with suspect brown spots all over them, and five squat bottles of the same kind of mustard. “Only worried about your cooking skills.” 

“Rightfully so.” Dean shuts the door and looks up to see Cas’ eyes zeroed in on his own body. He hadn’t realized how obviously he’d been sticking out his ass, ostentatiously even, but it clearly had some benefit. 

He strides over to Cas’ side. He’s too close, and he draws them closer together by tangling Cas’ fingers with his own. He doubts Cas minds. He could touch these hands, the width of them, the length of the fingers, for days. 

“Not worried about some other things,” Dean says, knowing his brow is heavy. Cas’ eyes have darkened to navy.

“Me neither.”

Sticking his head in Cas’ woefully understocked fridge may not have been the best foreplay, but Dean’s not surprised to find them kissing in the space between the next heartbeat. He’s doubly unsurprised at just how goddamn into it he is, now that they can take their time to map out this new world.

Their kisses before were slow, almost liquid, but this kiss boils over. Dean’s not sure if he’s the one who flattened himself against the wall, or if Cas boxed him in there, but what matters is that they’ve both got a grip on each other’s arms. There’s a pulse he can feel chattering away against his wrist, and he’s not sure if it’s his own or the one in response from Cas’ own hands. Dean bucks his hips up, hungry for friction, parched for contact. 

Cas is _methodical_ in his kissing, and goddamn if Dean’s not really into that. When Dean worked with Bobby, he got a stupidly satisfying swoop in his stomach when he poked around a potential issue in a project until he found the right solution. Cas treats kissing him until his knees buckle the same way.

Dean doesn’t feel like just some experiment, though. Cas’ kisses are too tender for that, tender even while the guy’s a hip-hitch away from rutting him against a wall. Cas bites down in the hollow of Dean’s throat, and he moans loudly enough that he’d be worried about the walls if they were in Dean’s own apartment, but it’s soft, careful. Meaningful. 

Cas’ eyes are slotted open while he does it. Dean wouldn’t put it past Cas not knowing that he’s supposed to close his eyes in this kind of situation, but it seems like more than that. Like he has to drink Dean in. 

Dean keeps his eyes open too. It’s not a challenge. It’s a greeting; it’s capitulation.

Watch out for the dorky ones who are toting around duffel bags with big, dweeby cartoon Quagsires on them, Dean always said. Or he didn’t, but he’ll have to adopt that motto from now on. 

“I don’t need to move this fast, if you don’t –” Cas’ voice starts off firm, but it sputters when Dean starts kissing his neck, long luxurious wet presses against his skin. 

“It’s been months,” Dean says, when he can bear to pull himself away from Cas. He feels every follicle of stubble pushing its way up on Cas’ neck under his lips, and it already feels stupidly intimate. It already feels like _tomorrow_ , like a future. 

Dangerous thinking, the kind that never pays off. But Dean’s already starting to plump up against the front of his boxers and the zipper of his jeans, so for once, he’s gonna give himself a goddamn break. 

They’ve gotta take a depressingly sober break to leave out food for Vaporeon and Staraptor, and all but beg them to stay in the living room until at least the morning. “Babe,” Dean tells Vaporeon, low, “You gotta stay out here until we come get you.” His face is as hot as if someone had shoved a coal on the back of his neck.

“Vay.” She twirls in a little circle and settles down on one of Cas’ rugs. Once she sits, she ain’t moving, thankfully, but she’s still got this friggin’ _knowing_ look on his face. He’s got no idea how she’s aware of what’s going on, but really, there are some things a Pokemon just shouldn’t know. 

He’s counting his blessings he doesn’t have to deal with Staraptor on this, anyway. She criss-crosses from rafter to rafter, Cas clapping his hands at her in an attempt to get her attention. It’s an absolutely ridiculous sight.

Cas lifts his arms once more. There’s a flash of skin at his waist, nothing Dean hasn’t seen before. But in this situation, where he’s in Cas’ apartment, where he’s going to end up in Cas’ _bedroom_ , the sight of it soars through his body. The skin seems like a promise of later, of more.

Staraptor finally cooperates enough to find a permanent perch, and then, in what feels like the next instant, they’re in Cas’ room. The bed here isn’t the question that it was in the nursery; it’s a destination. One they wind themselves down into, tangling together along the way. Dean thinks of the way Vaporeon and Staraptor had twisted themselves up in each other to sleep, but he and Cas are going to do anything _but_ sleep as they move together, too, fingers laced through each other, legs shoved between.

“Dean,” Cas says, and Dean wants to chase that sound and swallow it up when it comes out of his big plush mouth. “Are you sure –”

Dean’s never been one for words when there are actions to _show_ , so he takes Cas’ hand in his own and guides it down, down, down, until it reaches right between his legs. The flash of Cas’ skin made his own react in ways he couldn’t stop, didn’t want to. 

He isn’t surprised that Cas is kind of stupidly slow and careful, almost delicate, like rubbing his fingerpads over Dean’s dick through denim is his own personal form of worship. “You can,” Dean finds himself saying, in a low voice. “Please.”

They both start slow. They’re both careful. But it just builds and builds and builds, until they’ve got no choice but to rip some of their clothes off. Until those kisses of theirs aren’t passing for anything close to _experimental_ any more, but desperate swallows of each other’s mouths. 

Dean’s not sure when it happens, but at some point Cas ends up belly-up on the bed. He has the half-dizzy, half-lucid feeling that Cas himself must have done that, because no way he’s shoving Cas around anywhere. What matters, though, is him bending Cas’ leg at the knee, and fucking _riding_ against it. 

Distantly, he thinks shame should be involved here, but Cas is pushing his hips back to meet him, those killer thighs of his, and _fuck that_. Dean bucks and whines and rolls, one long sinuous motion he wouldn’t have even thought he was capable of.

Twenty-eight years old, still wearing jeans that rub him rough at his knees and against his cock, practically humping Cas hard enough to stick the shape of the two of them in the bed for days after. And all Dean can think about is how damn close they are, how their hard breaths answer each other, how he’s got their hands braced together, lifted and trapped over Cas’ head. How they haven’t broken eye contact, and how it feels like they might never do that again.

“Wanna ride you for real,” Dean moans, rucking up Cas’ shirt. Hips still moving, he leans down to lick a circle around Cas’ nipples. The jolt in response makes Cas buck up against his mouth and it’s fucking wonderful. 

“Later,” is all Cas can get out in response, and his voice is all fucked up. It’s too, too good. 

They somehow manage to untangle their fingers, and Dean would complain about it, except now those hands are making quick work of the zipper on his jeans and shoving them down, along with his boxers. The position’s awkward enough that Dean understands why Cas half-apologizes, “We can do this another way,” when he curls his hand around Dean’s cock.

Truth of it is, though, that Dean is fucking gone. He’s been thinking about those hands all over him; he wishes they’d stain him somehow, like a brand. Never thought this about hands before, but they’re _gorgeous_. His fingers are wide and elegant all at once, the kind of hands you see on a model holding up Poke Balls in TV commercials. Only Dean’s never wanted four of the fingers from the hands on the television screen pushed up his ass, right up against his prostate, until he comes crying against the bedsheets, but _details_. 

Dean manages to shove out, “Just fuckin’ touch me, man, it’s all good,” before he leans forward and braces himself against Cas. 

Cas’ hand moves at a steady pace, wrist snapping into a twist when he reaches the top. If there’s a generic way to jerk someone off, this is it, but it’s working for Dean anyway. The rhythm picks up when Dean desperately hitches his hips, over and over, pushing him further and further into Cas’ grip and that – oh, that’s _really_ working for him now.

Dean doesn’t feel safe in this world very often; he’s always lookin’ over his shoulder. Doesn’t make any sense for him to feel safe now. But Cas is all around him, cradling Dean’s ass with his thighs, arm solid against his back, and so warm against his front that their bodies might as well be aflame.

Their faces are close enough to breathe the same air. It seems only right that Dean should turn his head just a few inches and start kissing Cas again. 

He’s in Cas’ lap, and even though his pants and boxers are only just shoved down and not off, he’s trying his best to rub his ass against Cas’ rising erection, both a tease because he can’t resist and a promise he truly intends to keep. Cas’ currently _unoccupied_ hand, heavy and hot, has found its way to the back of Dean’s neck. And they can’t stop kissing, long desperate drags from each other’s mouth. He’s surrounded by Cas, almost completely. 

That’s when his orgasm crests up in him. It slips through his body, leaving him shuddering, until it’s spilling out of him and landing across his stomach. He runs a finger through it in the come-down, because it feels good, it feels _right_ , that he’s marked by this night somehow. His thoughts shimmer with endorphins and morning light.

“Cas,” Dean says with a chuckle, once he’s gotten his breath back, “what do you want, because after that, man, anything’s on the table.” He already feels orgasm-loose, and he’s still in Cas’ lap. It would be so easy for Cas to slick him up and push into him, and he feels a pang low in his belly just at the thought of it, even though he just came.

But Cas just captures his lips again. Their mouths can’t stop meeting, over and over, deliriously good. They flatten each other against the sheets, an irrational glorious dance they make the steps up to as they move along, until Dean has his palms pushing Cas’ shoulders down. Even like this, Dean manages to have a coherent thought: _Cas is staring at my mouth._

Dean can work with that.

Getting Cas’ pants off is easy, even if he has to watch out to lift up the waistband of his underwear to avoid his erection. And then they’re both naked, totally naked, and Dean can drink in all that skin. He kisses down, down, down, stopping over neck and collarbone and nipple and bellybutton until he reaches his destination. As it turns, out, Cas tastes good everywhere. 

Cas’ dick is huge while erect and so dark with blood it’s practically purple; it visibly twitches when Dean runs a finger down its length. “Been pretty hyped up for a while, haven’t you?”

Cas at least has the dignity not to grab Dean’s hair and demand that he suck him off, but he gives him a look that might as well say it anyway. “Stop teasing,” is all he says, even if it’s more of a gasp. And, well, Dean is pretty happy to comply.

Cas pulses hot inside Dean’s mouth. Normally, Dean would close his eyes during this – he knows it makes a good visual too – but he can’t help but keep them open, just to take everything in. How Cas’ dick gets wet from his own precome but Dean’s tongue too. How the slices of light from the window move across Cas’ chest and the rise of his stomach, warping with every breath he takes. How Cas’ fingers flex, again and again, until Dean manages to raise a hand up to grip them. It’s gratifying that they’re shaking, and he has to be the one to steady them.

Dean tastes salt and skin and a promise of so goddamn much more inside his mouth. He’s rarely ever felt this _alive_.

Carefully, Dean draws his mouth off Cas’ cock. The tip of it draws a dirty wet line down his cheek and chin when he does that, but he doesn’t care; he flicks out his tongue to taste it, in fact. “This, uh, good?” 

Cas looks offended. “Don’t _stop_ ,” he hisses, and his hands clamp Dean’s shoulders. 

Dean goes back to work. Cas loves sensations, he’s learning, so that’s what he chases. Warm mouth, cool breath, fingers skimming and pressing everywhere. Eventually, though, he’s back to bobbing up and down on Cas’ cock, the rhythm of his movements and the heaviness of Cas on his tongue almost getting him hard again.

Cas tells him _You’re so fucking good at this_ and _Your mouth looks amazing_ , but he also tells him, simply, _You’re good, Dean, you’re good_. Dean has to tell himself, too many times, that it’s just a blowjob. He’s done them before, he loves them and he’s fuckin’ great at them. Just a blowjob. That’s all. 

Except when Dean flicks his eyes up toward Cas’ face, there’s sheer adoration in his eyes, a fierce attachment. His eyes are so blue and wide, but that stands out above everything else. No one’s looked at Dean like that before, ever.

He feels Cas start to come right at the eye contact, and it puts a funny lurch in his heart. Cas’ hips start to move away, but Dean holds them right there and lets him spill across his tongue. Just to let Cas see, he flicks his tongue out, then swallows it all down almost too eagerly.

The taste of it, and Cas’ deep groan the second his orgasm hit him, is gonna provide spank bank material for Dean’s entire life. If he doesn’t just have Cas right there with him, anyway. 

That last thought should be scarier than it is.

After a few beats, Dean crawls back up and flops right next to Cas. It’s not exactly graceful, but whatever, he already had sex with the guy, and it was awesome. 

Plus, Cas keeps kissing him and running his gorgeous thick fingers, still fucking _wet_ , over his body in lazy zig-zags. He misses nothing; he spends time on the insides of Dean’s thighs and his biceps, his shoulders and gut, his neck. It’s a little weird, and it gets a _lot_ weird when Cas starts tracing those lines all over his face – skims over his nose, his cheeks, his forehead, doesn’t even stop to ask him to close his eyes before he goes over his eyelids too – but Dean can’t stop thinking _Cas is touching me, Cas is touching me_ , and he can’t ask him to stop even if he doesn’t dare think of the significance of it.

“Your tattoos.” 

“Yeah.” Dean flips his arms over and back again, letting him see just how extensive they are. Probably didn’t get much of an impression when Dean was just a quivering lump in his lap. 

Dean’s a tall dude with broad shoulders, usually wearing jeans worn to hell at the knees and some ratty plaid shirt. He’s got a glare he’s been perfecting for decades, and he’s covered in tattoos; many people avert their eyes when he walks down the street. Even some of the college kids who visit Edlund’s shelter for Pokemon behavior classes look at him funny, like they can’t believe _he_ works _there_.

“They’re beautiful.” 

Dean lets out a puff of breath and something resembling a laugh. “I was drunk and these were way too cheap.” Getting his tats was probably (okay, definitely) a dumb idea, but not the stupidest thing he’s ever done and he didn’t end up getting the sepsis Sammy kept whining about, so it’s fine.

“You’re beautiful,” Cas presses on, kissing – oh, what the hell, he’s kissing the inside of Dean’s wrist. Dean is so fucking _gone_.

Dean manages a full chuckle. Brush it off, brush it off, brush it _off_. “I prefer to think of myself as ruggedly handsome,” he returns, the curve of his smile wide on his face. 

Cas doesn’t say anything for a while; he just lets his thumb trace over Dean’s face again. Usually Dean goes all Octillery on the person he’s with post-orgasm and passes out, but Cas keeps him buzzing. Dean doesn’t dare doze off, because he doesn’t want to miss any of these touches, tiny and precious, jewels studded across Dean’s skin.

“Water and Grass,” Cas says, at last, his fingers playing over the tuft of grass and cresting wave Dean’s got tattooed on his arm, “But no Fire.” 

Dean’s quiet at that. For Cas’ part, he doesn’t push; he just keeps on taking his time. His fingers dance across the uneven lines of Dean’s tattoos, and Dean gets the feeling he’d be perfectly happy to keep doing that until he fell asleep. “Can I say somethin’ personal,” Dean murmurs, several minutes later, voice cotton-stuffed and sleepy. He feels Cas’ nod against his chin.

There’s an adjustment in their positions, and then – Dean may be all post-orgasm groggy and Cas is stumbling his way to sleep too, but those damn eyes of his still light Dean up inside.

“You remember the Cubone Kid thing.” Cas nods, solemn. “My mom died when I was only ten. Had a Leafeon. She – they – died in a fire, saving baby Pokemon. Sorry to spring that on you now, but –” 

“Don’t apologize.” Of course Cas would say that. 

Dean’s able to catch hold of his thoughts again. “Water’s for Vaporeon. I got nothin’ at all against people with Fire Pokemon, you’ve seen me with Charlie and her Vulpix, I just – I couldn’t get the symbol on me.” Dean says it all in one exhale, and tries awfully fucking hard to ignore just how heated his face gets. 

This is crazy. He barely even _knows_ Cas, and they’ve still got the specter of that night outside Shopping Mall Nine casting a long shadow over them. Here he is, though, telling Cas shit he couldn’t even manage to tell Sam.

Cas moves his fingers, until he’s cradling Dean’s cheek. Dean huffs again, but it’s in gratitude, and he lets himself rest against Cas’ palm. He didn’t know how much he wanted exactly this, his face held like it’s something worthy, something _valued_ , until he was right here. 

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” Cas says, and really, it’s all anyone _can_ say to him when they hear the awful story of his life, but from Cas, Dean buys it. 

He just nods. Every movement of his head rubs his stubbly cheek against Cas’ palm, and God, it’s the best reminder. 

“You didn’t see this one.” Dean moves Cas’ fingers until they touch his left shoulder. This tattoo’s covered up any time he has a t-shirt on, so it feels right that Castiel is one of the few people to actually see it. It’s a ring of dazzling neon blue, where the brightness of it makes even Vaporeon’s vivid scales seem dull. Dean went to tattoo parlor after tattoo parlor looking for the right color to capture it. “That night. It meant a lot.” 

Cas moves to bracket Dean’s legs with his own. The ring etched into his shoulder always made Dean feel tougher, like no matter what happened he could get through it okay. Cas warm against his side fills him with the same feeling. Cas might not remember what happened, and even though that will never stop gnawing at Dean, his presence here is another hot, tangible reminder. 

Most of the time, the tattoos on Dean’s arms made him feel lonelier. He’d look at them, the leaves that drifted down his arm lazily, and think about what he’d lost. But here and now, he’s just thinking about what he’s got, and how what he had isn’t gone just because it’s in the past.

Dean ends up curling into Cas’ body. Cas is smaller than him, but not by much, with killer shoulders and strong arms. Dean finds himself pressed against him, his back to Cas’ chest. Little spoon. He fuckin’ loves it. 

“Thanks, Cas,” he says, after a few minutes. Cas’ breathing has evened out against his neck, so he figures Cas fell asleep. He’s not expecting any response.

He feels one, though: the most stupidly soft kiss against the back of his neck. Dean squeezes his eyes shut at that, because no, no, no, he can’t have this, it’s going to fall apart, he’s going to destroy it, he’s gotta let it slip away while he still can. But then he’s squeezing Cas’ hand just as hard, because he hasn’t had something like this to hold on to for too long. 

When he wakes up, he opens his eyes to find Cas’ still looking right at him. “You like that, huh,” he asks, voice too sleepy to make it a real question. 

“I enjoy my sleep,” Cas says, “but this has its own charm.” 

Dean takes Cas’ hand again. He remembers slipping it between his own legs, letting Cas feel just how much Dean wanted him, but this time, Dean pulls Cas’ hand _up_. He keeps their fingers intertwined, not wanting to let go of Cas’ long and outright elegant fingers. Both their hands press against Dean’s chest, right against his heartbeat. Dean keeps his eyes trained right on Cas’ face.

Cas doesn’t look away either. 

“Okay,” Dean says, hardly recognizing his own voice. The first time they kissed, his heartbeat practically skidded along his ribs, drumming _thump thump thump_. This isn’t that, not any more. It’s melted into something slower, smoother.

Safe. 

Dean knows it’s stupid to think that. The life he’s lived, he probably hasn’t been safe for a minute since Mary went up in flames. Sam’s still gone without a damn trace. He still doesn’t know what the hell happened that night Cas saved his life, almost a decade ago. 

But he can’t stop his feelings, stupid as they might be. He’s here with Cas, his bed warm with their body heat. Vaporeon and Staraptor are outside their door, probably sleeping collapsed on top of each other.

In this moment, with him holding Cas’ hand in his own and touching his heart, measuring out his heartbeats, it’s what matters.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean wakes up some time later – the sun hasn’t set yet, but it’s starting to spill orange and gold into the room – to find Cas smiling at him. His eyes are warm.

Deep down, Dean was fearing that all they’d have was a collection of scattered nights, that Cas would wake up alarmed at the stranger in his bed because he’d forgotten who he was. Again. Dean exhales and curls closer to Cas. 

“Was that… it?” Cas asks.

“What?” Dean’s sure he misheard him. Or misunderstood, either way. He’s still sleepy.

“What we did,” Cas says, and just the vague mention of it is enough to put a shiver through Dean’s body even through the sleepiness. “Was that all you want to do, was that all you want to do with me –”

“Cas, whoah,” Dean interrupts. “I’m not – _done_ with you, Jesus.” He flicks his eyes downward, because he can’t quite meet Cas’ eyes as he says the next words. “I don’t think I could ever be done with you.”

When Dean feels pressure under his chin, he lets Cas tilt his head back up. Cas looks tired too, the deep lines under his eyes even more pronounced than usual, but his eyes burn with their usual intensity cranked up exponentially. “My family is difficult, as I’m sure you’ve seen –”

“Got some first-hand experience with _difficult families_.”

Cas smiles. “I’m aware. Uriel is a Cleffa compared to many other people in my family. Even the ones I like – I haven’t even _told_ you anything about Naomi yet, and that’s the woman who’s closest to a _mother_ to me. I don’t remember one of the most important nights of your life. I’ve been told I lack _people skills_ , and that’s why I wanted to work with Pokemon. I’m no prize, Dean, I’m not _good_.”

Dean thinks of himself much like a blister, sore and throbbing, coated over by a callous. Tough exterior, raw on the inside, not much space between those two parts. Cas, he thought, was much more straightforward. He wasn’t cocky, not like Dean’s toothy grins and bravado, but he was confident in himself in a way Dean had never truly settled into. That’s what Dean _thought_. 

He shoulda reminded himself that everyone’s got their own shit going on. Cas included. No matter how gorgeous he was or unflappable he seemed. 

“I don’t care about any of that,” Dean says, at last. “I’m a mess. I’m twenty-eight and I still miss my mom, every day. Don’t think any of what you said was true, but – so what if they were. You’re not _good_ , neither am I, maybe we can be better together. So no, I’m not _done_. Not with any of this.”

“You’re as stubborn as any baby Pokemon we have over in the nursery,” Cas says in return, but he’s smiling as he does it, small but real.

“Part of my charm.”

“I’d agree with that.” Cas leans in, and kisses him. He’s got sleep breath, sure, but Dean inhales it and his kiss anyway, gladly. 

Cas tells him that Anna’s coming over later when they’re cuddling on the sofa together, Vaporeon and a surprisingly quiet Staraptor on either side of them. None of Zachariah’s ridiculous commercials come on, which means it’s an even better day than it had been previously. 

“You want me gone?”

“I want the opposite of that.” Dean was pretty sure that was gonna be the answer, but it’s nice to have it confirmed. He’s waved at Anna a couple of times before, but they never had a real conversation. He’s not nervous, though, more sad with a dash of jealous that Cas can’t come over his place and meet Sam to ascend to weird nerd heaven together.

Dean’s wearing one of Cas’ hoodies right now, a brick maroon color that frankly shot up to Dean’s cheeks too when Cas told him he looked good in it. It’s about half a size too small, and snug across the shoulders. Dean should probably mind that more than he does, but instead it’s a constant reminder of Cas on him. “Should I take this off?” 

“Later,” Cas says, and his tone is nonchalant but Dean still feels a shiver through his system that he’d do more about if Cas’ sister wasn’t coming. “For now, it’s fine.”

Anna doesn’t say anything about the hoodie; she doesn’t even smirk at him or raise an eyebrow. “You must be _the_ Dean,” Anna says. Her smile is wide and warm and toothy; it lifts up her brows, though not lasciviously, and lights her eyes. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“All good, I hope,” he chuckles, still nervous.

“It was,” Cas says, and Dean finds his face heating in response.

The three of them and their Pokemon retreat to the greenhouse on the roof of Cas’ apartment. Really, it’s more like a garden, wild green plants everywhere and tiny Oddishes wandering around. “Swanky,” Dean tells Cas, who merely smiles and points out the pristine turquoise pool in a corner. Vaporeon splashes right in; she’s having a better time than Staraptor and Anna’s Pidgeot, who flit from tree to tree looking for a solid perch.

“All the residents of this building have to clean this garden on certain weeks. We have a schedule,” Cas says.

“You bleeding heart,” Dean shoots back, grinning all the way.

Anna laughs. “You told him about that, huh?” 

They spend the whole afternoon in the greenhouse, Anna regaling the two of them with utterly hilarious stories from growing up. Dean laughs at them, he genuinely does, but Cas is tending the plants and he finds his eyes wandering toward him. 

“You’re tellin’ me a Pidgey stole a whole cake?” Dean managed to pull his attention away from Cas to pay attention to the story Anna’s trying to tell. He’s settled in and clutching a cup of coffee in his hands. He didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, after all. Not that he’s complaining. 

“He _did_!” Anna exclaims. “Zachariah was gonna catch him, too, but then there was this – a weird burst of red light –”

“I remember,” Cas says, too quickly, meeting Dean’s eyes and pursing his lips. Well, shit. “It let Pidgey get away. Always was a smart one.”

Anna doesn’t notice the brief awkwardness, though. “You get a sense of humor when you’re the tenth or so generation to pass through Zachariah’s Home for Wayward Orphans,” she pushes on, more serious now, her voice spackled over with disdain. “Michael and Raphael considered us far below them at that point. Still haven’t talked to them in – five years, maybe. Hester and I got along, but she’s tried to stay away for her own good.”

“At least we had –” Cas starts, then cuts himself off. _I lost a sister too_.

Anna purses her lips for a moment, then pulls out her phone. “We had each other,” she says, decidedly. “You, me, Uriel, and Hannah. And we had Gabriel. You hear about her?” 

“Yeah. I’m – I’m really sorry.”

“She was great,” Anna says, unable to meet his eyes. “She really was.” She pushes her phone in Dean’s direction.

Anna actually looks completely annoyed in the photo frame, where she’s crammed in with another girl. That girl’s flashing the peace sign, mouth wide open like she’s mid-word. Her hair’s short. She looks like trouble. Dean’s pretty sure he’d adore this chick, and he feels a funny stutter in his gut over someone he doesn’t even know.

“Gabriel?” he asks. 

“She insisted we call her that. Not Gabby, either. Gabe was okay.” Dean had meant his question as confirmation of Gabriel’s identity, but Anna apparently took it as questioning her name. She smiles wistfully down at the picture. “I wish I didn’t look so – cranky. Wouldn’t have been, if I’d known. We all take so much shit for granted.”

Dean doesn’t think he has any pictures with his dad, and the ones with his mom got lost when they moved out of the house in Village Bridge. The last picture with him and Sammy in it, Sam couldn’t have been much more than fifteen. “Isn’t it always the case.”

Dean asks them who Naomi is some time later; he didn’t have time to ask Cas when he brought her up. Anna ducks her head down again. “She used to work with Zachariah,” she tells him. “Runs one of the better training centers in the city.”

“He always used to send us there,” Cas mutters, “even when we were way too young for it.”

“I feel you on that one,” Dean says. Vaporeon’s crawled out of the water by now, and under the crook of his arm. She flicks her tail back and forth, spattering the three of them with water droplets. 

“Don’t think our darling Zach was counting on us all liking Naomi a lot more than him, though,” Anna says, looking up now and smirking a bit. “I moved out before college ever started. I still do a lot of work for her, when she asks. I owe her that much. That’s what happens when someone makes you feel like a human being for the first time in your life.”

“Naomi’s not _nice_ ,” Cas butts in.

“Not at all,” Anna says with a laugh, not cruel but a little guilty. “I don’t think you can run a Pokemon training center in a city like Opelucid without being –”

“A hardass?” Dean offers.

Cas pats his knee. It could be weirdly condescending, but he lets his touch linger for just a beat too long, and instead it sends a frisson sizzling through Dean. “Thank you for not making Anna say that,” he says. “It’s a bit of an understatement for Naomi. After Zachariah, though, she was _fine_. Naomi actually cared about if we were okay, and with what we wanted to do with our lives even if it wasn’t something that would put more money into her coffers.”

Dean thinks about Bobby. Bobby was a father himself, his kids older than Dean and scattered throughout the continent, but that fact seems absurd. The only kind of love he knew was tough love; sure, he’d give you a hug, but then he’d tell you to _fix your crap_. The few times John left Sam and Dean at Bobby’s house in Village Bridge, it seemed like paradise, but the place was not remotely kid-friendly. The house was scattered with woodworking projects, all nasty sharp edges, and Dean had to watch where he was stepping because there were always nails on the floor. Bobby had dug out a pond in his own backyard, and Vaporeon took full advantage of it, but it always smelled funny.

For Dean, though, it seemed like paradise. More than that, it seemed like home.

“You guys turned out alright,” Dean says, smiling. 

“So did you,” Cas responds. For once, Dean doesn’t shoot back.

The sky is starting to shift from blue to yellow-tangerine. Night’s falling. Twenty-four hours ago, he wouldn’t have thought he’d wake up in a bed with Cas, wake up in Cas’ bed. 

He’s not sure what the next twenty-four hours will bring. But he feels a little more like he can face them head-on.

 

* 

Things move _fast_ after that.

Dean leaves a toothbrush at Cas’ a couple of days later and doesn’t say anything when he finds Cas’ own toothbrush stuck next to his own in the cup by his sink. Dean is weirdly charmed by the fact that it’s bright orange, but he’s coming to terms with the fact that he finds everything Cas does entirely endearing, including his bedhead. Maybe especially his bedhead.

Staraptor’s downy feathers litter his floor. “You could clean up, you’re so proud,” Dean grumbles good-heartedly to her. She pretends not to listen, because like everyone else in Dean’s life, she’s some kind of horrible traitor. 

When Dean catches Cas stooping over to pluck the feathers off the floor later, which is a pretty useless enterprise considering they’re mostly just fuzz, the only reaction Cas gives him is a shrug. “I’m proud too,” is all he offers up, but he’s smiling.

They don’t exactly throw a parade at work to say they’re together now, but their coworkers are smart and catch on fast. Jody won’t stop calling them “you two crazy kids,” Benny’s all smiles in their direction, and Charlie texts Dean, _thank god, the ust was killing me_. Yes, Dean actually understands what she means by that, thank you very much.

“Are you worried this is moving too fast?” Dean asks one day. They’re in the shower and he’s trying awfully hard not to be distracted by either the planes of Cas’ goddamn perfect body, or the stupid shampoo mohawk he constructed his hair into. It’s not working too well. 

Dean’s pretty sure that – well, that Aaron, at least, in his past, would say Dean hated commitment, and he’s pretty sure most other people would _assume_ that about him, but it ain’t true. Most kids tried to rebel from their parents, and with the fucked-up way Dean grew up, he assumes his rebellion took the shape of yearning to set down deep roots, be it in one place or with one person. 

The big fuckin’ problem with that is the idea of someone choosing _him_ to settle down with is terrifying. Gotta be a special kind of stupid to do that.

“No,” Cas responds. 

Dean sees Cas doing ridiculous shit all the time now, from nonchalantly drawing Beedrill forms with his finger on the steamed-up shower doors, or grooming Staraptor while she flops – yes, Staraptor flops, completely boneless like a beanbag pillow – across his lap. No matter how absurd his actions, Cas still carries that _intense_ gaze, the scrutinizing kind Dean assumed just didn’t exist in real life until he found himself drawn to it.

Cas has that gaze fixed on him now. It’s not _angry_ with Dean for asking, is the thing that’s getting to him. It’s seeking him, finding him, telling him – “You are worth it,” Cas continues, tugging Dean’s hips closer to his own. They’re practically dick on dick now, and it’s sexy, because Dean’s only human, but more than that, it’s so good to be this fucking _close_ to someone, in every way.

Dean assumed Cas would be the type to meticulously plan everything, and sometimes he is, but sometimes he’s also spontaneous in a way Dean learns to roll with. Like the time he wakes Dean up early on a Thursday, when Cas normally does not crack his eyes open a millisecond before he needs to in the mornings. “I figured Vaporeon would appreciate it, so I got us passes to Opelucid Beach.” 

“You’re serious.” Dean’s pretty sure he doesn’t own a pair of swimming trunks. 

“Extremely.” Dean wants to scoff at him again, but Cas is so damn earnest. He finds himself packing up his bath towels and grimacing while he hopes he can shake the sand outta them, then slapping together some sandwiches from whatever he has in the kitchen, and heading out to damn Opelucid Beach.

It’s not a long drive, and the beach is pretty empty because it’s still early in the season and the weekend’s not here yet. There are more wild Pokemon out there, a scattering of Wingulls that Dean tears up a couple of slices of bread for and some Magikarp in the shallows, than other people. It’s not much of a beach, either, more a couple of yards between a rich forest and the rise and swell of the sea, but it stretches out for a long while along the coast. The smell of sea salt wafts through the air, tempered by the damp forest. 

This beach isn’t the kind that would ever get crowded. The sea bubbles over a rocky bottom, and the shade from the trees blunts the sun from ever striking it head on. “It’s like Village Bridge,” Dean says. The words quicken his heart rate, though he wouldn’t admit it. 

“I knew it would be.” Cas’ response is even, and he keeps looking forward across the water. There’s a smile bubbling up, though, Dean can tell from so much time with the guy. He leans over to kiss him, knocking his ridiculously huge sunglasses off-kilter. Judging by Cas’ enthusiasm in return, he doesn’t mind his sunglasses getting jostled. 

As the day goes on, Dean’s not exactly surprised to see that neither him nor Cas are exactly the beach type. He’s wearing jeans and boots, and somehow still gets sand into both of them. Cas has sandals and his enormous Noctowl-eye sunglasses at least, but the sandals are these awful fake Birkenstocks Dean’s wanted to burn for weeks, and sand sticks in patches all over his sweatshirt. Cas _would_ wear a sweatshirt to the beach.

“There is sand all over me,” Cas grumbles. He’s stomping around in a circle in some futile attempt to get rid of it, which would be absurd if it wasn’t kind of adorable, a mid-thirties man in a sweatshirt and horrid sandals on the beach pacing like that. 

“You’re the one who vouched for the beach vaycay,” Dean says. He pulls his boot off and holds it upside down, until a cascade of sand falls out of it. “And hey, we match.” 

They do. Cas smiles at Dean’s gesture.

And eventually, they both get the fuck over themselves and have a good freakin’ time anyway. They walk around the beach, shooting the shit. 

“We could get dinner with Charlie and Gilda later this week,” Cas says. “We haven’t hung out with them in too long.”

“It’s been like a week,” Dean points out, chuckling.

“Too long,” Cas retorts. Point taken. Dean agrees anyway.

The waves crash against the sand, more robustly than Dean would have thought with no real wind to buoy them onward. They slide up the land, staining it dark until the sun dries it out, the waves crash again, and the cycle begins anew.

“I remember mornings like this,” Dean says, fishing for Cas’ hand. “Me, Sammy, Dad. And Mom. She’d be out looking for injured Krabby to take back to the little Pokemon shelter we had goin’ on in our backyard, and throw Magikarp back into the sea. Every morning.” He smiles, wistful but true. “Maybe we can do this every now and then. The nursery’s ponds are pretty empty.”

“Of course.” Cas squeezes his hand.

Most of the time, Cas ain’t much of a talker, but the guy _listens_. Dean knows that’s not a luxury, not even close, but after the life he’s had, he’s amazed he knows people now like Cas and Charlie and Benny, who seem to think the shit he says has value. Cas, though, he’s the one who’s there to hold Dean at night, who will take his hand when Dean can’t go on any more.

Farther down the beach, Vaporeon and Staraptor are teaming up to take on a couple of Corphish scuttling at the shore. Dean keeps half an eye on them, and he knows Cas does too, but it’s not even worth the trouble; the Corphish are too low-level to pose much of a problem. Vaporeon and Staraptor don’t bug the wild Pokemon too much, and they rarely get an opportunity to battle or even run around outside, so it’s all good.

When the day starts to fade, Dean finds himself exhaling “What a day,” and falling back against the sand so he can watch the sky streak fiery orange and soft pink until all the color fades away to nothing but navy. In this position, the sand’ll stick to his back and get in his hair now, but fuck it, it’s everywhere else at this point. 

Staraptor soars far above them. He expected her to grumble all day, but she’s been soaring along with every easy current and breeze, and perching on a clump of trees over by the tiny parking lot. She’s been oddly peaceful. 

She’s got nothing on Vaporeon, though, who spurts through the water and causes small geysers to spray up in her wake. They make a neat, pretty arc; the last of the sunlight catches on them and makes the water glitter. 

Dean knows the water is pretty cold, another reason Opelucid Beach isn’t exactly a tourist destination, but when Vaporeon dissolves into the water and leaps out of it fully formed a few seconds later, it seems like the warmest and most welcoming place on the planet. 

“She had a blast,” Dean says, pointing out Vaporeon to Cas. He’s smiling at her, too. “So did I.” He winds his fingers through Cas, and they wait there until the sun’s dipped low under the horizon and even Vaporeon’s nudging at them to leave.

Cas’ car is full of sand the next day, but it was always kind of a hunk of junk – Dean doesn’t want to throw it in the garbage like he does Cas’ sandals, but it’s pretty close – and he’s willing to spend a couple of hours vacuuming it out. The vacuuming, of course, is followed by Cas whirling him around against the car and pretty furiously making out with him, moving their hips together. To Dean, it’s pretty much _all_ good. 

Most of the time, though, Dean’s surprised by how damn quiet they are, quiet and calm. Oh sure, there’s definitely a lot of laughter, raucous Pokemon, and gasping involved too, and that shit is _fun_ , but when Dean thinks of him and Cas, he thinks of them on the beach that they didn’t even like, the two of them holding hands and letting time drift. The sex is awesome, but Dean likes the time after too, when they’re skin against skin and their voices are nothing more than quiet murmurs. 

For the first time in a long time, Dean thinks everything else might just turn out okay. 

*

Dean’s seen a lot of movies, and he watches too much crappy TV. He’s well-aware of the whole _meeting the parents_ cliché. And hell, this isn’t even meeting the parents; it’s meeting the siblings. Some of the siblings, because Zachariah adopted a ton of kids, and even though they could probably all band together to sue his ass off over negligent child-rearing, they’re all so spread out in age that Cas has admitted he’s not even sure how many siblings he actually _has_.

Tonight, though, Cas is taking Dean to dinner with Anna, Hannah, and Uriel. He says the four of them grew up together, and try to have dinner every couple of months. Dean realizes it’s already been _a couple of months_ for him and Castiel; it feels like it’s been way longer. Then again, it pretty much has been. 

Dean’s still nervous as hell, even if he knows Anna fairly well by now and Uriel has actually started smiling and nodding back to him in the elevator. Dean’s met Hannah briefly, too; he got a very firm handshake from them, even more intimidating with their blue gaze that had Cas’ intensity taken up yet another notch. But knowing them isn’t the same as getting shoved into a room with them in Hannah’s apartment for a couple of hours, and praying they all like him. 

He knows how to charm the hell out of people. That’s never been hard for him. But with the four of them, he just wants to be himself. Whoever the hell that is.

Dean sees why Cas is closest to Anna, biological relation aside. Cas shows up in his beaten-down sandals and cargo pants-style jeans, with dorky pockets on the sides, and Anna’s wearing a white t-shirt with black scribbled across it and an olive-colored vest that hangs limply over it. The t-shirt’s big enough that she keeps tucking it over her knees when she’s sitting down. 

Uriel and Hannah, on the other hand, are immaculately dressed. Uriel shows up in a goddamn business suit, while Hannah’s stiff jacket barely shifts as they move. Anna moves to hug Hannah, and though her embrace is warm, Hannah only responds to wind their own arms around Anna’s back after a minute or two.

All their Pokemon are completely different. Skarmory hops around on surprisingly light feet with her jangling metal feathers, trying to play with Staraptor and Anna’s Pidgeot, who aren’t interested. At least Vaporeon’s willing to play with Skarmory, the two of them darting around each other until they get too tired and end up napping. They keep a prim distance from each other, even with the playing, notable when Dean thinks about the way Vaporeon and Staraptor cuddle up together.

Hannah’s Tropius flies in loopy, lazy circles around the four other Pokemon, a dopey smile on his face. Tropius is a very large Pokemon, nearly as tall as Dean when he’s standing up, so he’s especially awkward. 

Weird stiff clothes and demeanor aside, Uriel and Hannah are great. 

“Your boy is an excellent chef,” Uriel declares, nodding toward Cas and patting his stomach as he finishes his last bite of his burger.

Dean offers up a wry grin. “Saw you givin’ these burgers the stink-eye before.”

“Uriel probably thinks they’re below him,” Anna says, patting Uriel’s shoulder.

“Darling sister,” Uriel returns, clasping a hand over his heart in mock affectation, “only the ground and Digletts are beneath me.” As it turns out, Uriel _is_ hilarious.

“I don’t want to make this awkward, but – we didn’t like you much at first,” Hannah speaks up, later on. Well, too late for that. Hannah is ridiculously intense, with too-blue eyes. This is not a family of casual glances. “You’re not much like us.” 

“ _Hannah_ ,” Anna warns, but Dean brushes her off.

“Thanks,” he offers up anyway. He’s smiling, at least, despite himself. Hannah is entirely intimidating, despite their shortness, ill-fitting suits, and ridiculous banana dinosaur Pokemon. 

Hannah smiles too, and it’s remarkable how much their face relaxes at that. “I wouldn’t worry about it now. You’re very likeable.” Cas is weird and blunt and direct, which Dean has come to find super charming at this point. But really, he’s got nothin’ on his sibling. 

If Dean didn’t already feel good – nah, fuckin’ awesome – about the whole thing, he’s got Cas’ arm on the back of his chair spurring him on. The memories of Cas and his siblings might not involve him, but that’s okay. There are new memories to make, after all. 

In a somber moment, Anna raises her glass, catches the eyes of her siblings, and says, “To Gabriel.” It reminds Dean that he might not ever quite belong here, after all.

They all raise their glasses – Anna’s got a skinny champagne flute, Uriel a stout whiskey tumbler, and Cas and Hannah both have ceramic mugs – and echo Anna’s words. A quiet passes over the table; Dean tries his best to offer silent condolences when he meets eyes with any of Cas’ siblings. He gets it more than they can imagine; the loss of Sam burns inside him, as boiling and unwanted as a lump of lit coal in his guts. 

Then, of all people, Uriel raises his glass, tips it carefully toward Dean, and announces, “To new members of the family, too.” 

Dean knows his cheeks must flush practically neon pink at that. But when he looks around the table, not only has everyone else raised their glass, they’re all smiling at him. Not the kind of pitying-ass smiles Dean saw too many times in the past when it became too clear to other adults what his living situation was. Sure, those adults weren’t gonna _do_ shit to help them, but they could offer up stupid, simpering smiles. No, these are genuine and welcoming. 

He ducks his head and lets the moment pass over him. Even Cas’ fingers on the back of his neck seem distant, even if they’re distant and welcome. It’s about feeling like he belongs. Dean’s got a shitton of memories, most of them pretty goddamn awful. But he doesn’t have too many memories where he felt alright, and wanted. 

When the moment finally passes, he makes sure he catches Cas’ eye. There aren’t words for what it means, anyway. 

Dean gets a stupid idea later, but he can’t shake it out of his head, not when he’s with the people in Cas’ family who matter the most to him. “I wanna meet Naomi,” he says. He’s trying to keep it casual, but it’s practically an announcement. Cas raises one eyebrow way up, then immediately goes back to eating. It’s the only reaction he gets.. Great start. “I’m serious, I do! She clearly meant a lot to you, a lot to all of you guys. And y’all are great, so – maybe I wanna meet Naomi too.” 

Dean finds himself looking back at four sets of eyes, the expressions in them ranging from pity (Cas) to confusion (Hannah) to flat-out _this guy’s a moron_ (of course that’s Uriel). He tries not to let it discourage himself too much.

“Naomi is… difficult to get along with,” Uriel says at last, “but respect her and she’ll respect you.” There’s definitely a soft snort from Anna’s direction; Dean tries his best to ignore it.

“Dealin’ with people like that’s basically been my life.” Dean’s able to put a smile on his face. Sure, every one of them scared the _shit_ out of him at first, but he’s not going to mention that. 

“Well, at least you have practice,” Hannah says, extremely diplomatically. Dean gets the feeling they’ve served that role for most of their family. He can relate; most of the time, Sam and Dad got into awful screaming matches and he’d end up playing referee. 

The expression on Cas’ face has flipped over from pity to real interest, and Dean’s grateful for that. “I’ll see what I can do,” he says, and everyone returns to their meal. That part of the conversation is over, for now. Dean’s not sure if he should be grateful. 

In a surprising gesture, Hannah and Uriel remembered to bring pie, not fuckin’ cake or stupidly trendy, treacly cupcakes. One of the pies is key lime, which is a tragedy, but the other one’s good ol’ cherry, still piping hot and obscenely red when sliced open. It’s flaky and delicious, and Dean’s sure he makes some absolutely disgusting noises while he gobbles it down, but Cas just smiles indulgently at him. Anna eats like a wolf, too, so they’re probably all used to it.

The point is, no one says shit about any of it, and all the food gets eaten. Even the key lime pie.

Dean finishes cleaning up the last crumbs of dessert, grimacing as he dumps some of the key lime goop into the garbage, dusts off his hands, and announces, awkward as it is, “I’m glad I met you guys. You’re all great.”

He really means it. Anna, Uriel, and Hannah are all terrifying in their own way, but then again, so’s Cas. So’s Dean himself. What matters is how they care for each other as a family, pushing each other forward, steadily refusing to give in to the sharp-tipped tendrils of the past. They respond to him with smiles, real smiles. 

“You too, Dean,” Anna says. It’s a little awkward, because she has to reach over Cas, but she clasps Dean’s hand for just a minute. Her hands are cold, her fingers long and thin, but it’s still a comforting grip. “You’re good for my dorky baby brother, you know that?”

“I’m thirty-four,” Cas says, serious as usual, but they all laugh and Cas does too. Dean and Cas’ arms cross behind their chair, and things are great. They’re really great. 

*

When Dean blinks awake the next morning, Cas is already sitting up in bed, his body long and lean and the tan of it sweet-looking against the early morning sun. He’s naked, but he’s furiously texting someone. 

“What’s up,” Dean asks. He’s not really thinking about Cas’ answer, though; he’s thinking about getting his mouth on the small of Cas’ back. Maybe lower, even. It’s a fuckin’ great idea – 

“I’m talking to Hannah,” Cas tells him. And okay, Dean will have to hold off on any fun extracurriculars when Cas is talking to his _sibling_. He lets the momentary flip of jealousy that Cas can text Hannah any time he wants pass. “They can likely get us an appointment with Naomi.”

“An appointment,” Dean repeats. “You gotta get an appointment with the woman who’s basically your mom?” So maybe sleepiness has completely wiped out Dean’s brain-to-mouth filter, but it’s a good point.

“Yes,” Cas says, and Dean’s damn thankful he doesn’t remark on that. Then again, if anyone knows bluntness, it’s Castiel. “Naomi is – formal. And a very busy woman.” His phone buzzes. “Oh, good. She can see us this afternoon.” 

Dean smiles at him, and props himself up on one elbow. “So we got plenty of time, is what you’re saying.” 

Cas’ smile in return is wicked. “Exactly.” 

There’s still the afternoon to deal with. Naomi wasn’t free until four, which means that Dean gets to internally panic for hours while Vaporeon swishes her tail at him in disapproval. He’s amazed at how much his brain ping-pongs back and forth between total cockiness and self-hate so thick it must leak out through his pores. 

“You sure this is alright?” Dean asks. He’s wearing a sweater that covers all his tattoos, and nice jeans. Ones without any holes, even. His shoes match and everything. It feels like he’s itching out of his skin.

“More than alright,” Cas assures him. 

Dean picks at the hem of the sweater. It’s a nice sweater, one he hasn’t worn in months because he had no occasion, but right now he feels like a Mothim might as well have devoured half of it. “You keep sayin’ she’s formal.” 

“She is.” Cas smiles at Dean, smoothing the sweater over his sides. The touch of his fingers makes goosebumps rise up over Dean’s skin, and he lets himself have a moment of wishing there were no clothes involved at all. “She’s also human, despite what you may have heard. Really. And you are very likable.” 

Now or never.

Naomi’s training center is in a pretty ritzy part of town. The streets are cobblestone, but there are lights along the paths too, ones that twinkle in pretty white and gold tones. Almost all the Pokemon milling about are the kind that indicate _status_ , not just Opelucid’s ever-present Dragon-types but Persians and Furfrous too, and plenty of revived fossil Pokemon. Dean tries not to gawk when a couple of Aerodactyls meet in mid-air not far in the distance from him, then swoop back to their owners. 

As an Eevee evolution, Vaporeon fits right in. Dean hates it. He wants to hitch up the sleeves on his sweater to show off his tattoos after all. It’d probably make some of the snobs here keel right over. 

As for the building, it’s a beautiful gleaming silver. The various buildings around it are squat, and look merely gray against the chrome of Naomi’s training center, frosted over so he can still look at it easily despite the sun. It’s a hulk of a building, stretching the length of a city block, but sleek as well. 

“That’s one damn fine piece of architecture,” Dean says. He’d know. He thinks of Bobby, who’d laugh all this shit off, and can’t help but smile sadly. 

Cas nods in recognition at one of the guards. Dean’s seen pictures of Naomi, and this woman isn’t her, but she’s got the stern demeanor he’d imagine Naomi carries too. The fact that she’s flanked by a friggin’ Garchomp probably isn’t buying her any friendship points, either. Both Garchomp and the guard set dual shark-like stares on Dean and Cas.

Of course, Cas doesn’t seem to mind at all. “Flagstaff,” he greets, neutrally. 

“Long time no see, Castiel.” She surprises Dean by pulling him into a hug. Her motions are much more fluid than Hannah’s or Uriel’s; she might actually have practice at this. Staraptor glides over easily to her Garchomp’s side, and tangles her claws with his briefly, before breaking away. It looks like a goddamn high-five, which is utterly absurd to think of coming from Staraptor. “We’ll catch up later. Naomi’s expecting you.” 

“We’re early,” Cas points out. There’s a line of people outside the gym, and some of them look like they’ve been waiting there a while, leaning against the training center’s walls or outright sitting on the ground.

“She knew you would be.” Well, that’s not ominous. Flagstaff pushes open the door, and Dean tries his best to ignore the jealous glares cast on him by most of the people on line.

All Dean can do when he walks into Naomi’s training center is offer up a shocked blink.

Dean thought maybe nostalgia and his weird sense of pride would lead him to conclude that Gordon’s training center was better than Naomi’s. Truth is, Gordon’s place was a damn mess. There were scorch marks all over the walls and floor and water-warped wood that no one had bothered to fix over the years. It’s a miracle it hadn’t been torn apart entirely by years of Pokemon fighting. Mats were strewn haphazardly; one time, Dean tried to lift one up only to get a blast of Stun Spore to the face. 

Naomi’s center is immaculate. The walls and floor are all the same material, an impossibly smooth nickel-colored overlay. The space has to be ten times the size of Gordon’s center, with clearly delineated areas for battles.

In one of those fighting areas, a girl with long dirty blonde ringlets, who looks way too serious for how damn young she appears, urges on her Flygon against the Tranquill of a skinny boy. The Flygon’s kicking ass. A silent whirlwind of sand whips up around Flygon’s green form, stretching up and up until it nearly reaches the ceiling. One long lash of it whips out, and smacks Tranquill out of midair. The bird falls to the floor with a _thud_. 

While the boy rushes over to take care of his Pokemon, the girl nonchalantly brushes leftover grains of sand off her clothes, then pats Flygon’s side. She looks way too young to have a fully evolved Flygon. Dean gives a wince of sympathy, for Tranquill and the girl alike.

Both the girl and the boy have _uniforms_. This place isn’t fucking around. Dean tries to ignore how baggy and unnatural the uniforms look on the battlers, though. Like they don’t belong here. 

At the front of the room, tiny in the distance, there’s a huge desk. Gordon just had a tiny back room that Kubrick was always squeezing into, too. Here, the desk takes up almost the entire length of the room.

A woman’s sitting behind it. She’s immaculate, with a major air of severity to her. Her hair’s in a perfect bun, not a wisp free. She has the uniform t-shirt on, in navy blue, but she’s wearing a gray suit jacket over it, and matching gray slacks. The uniform has pants with a drawstring, but Dean suspects this woman has never worn sweatpants in her damn life.

Her Gothitelle hovers next to her, unblinking. Creepy. The whole thing is creepy, honestly. Dean hates mess, but this place doesn’t even seem alive. 

“Castiel,” Naomi says, standing up in one easy, fluid movement. Dean’s always joking about how he’s gotta get Cas a bell so he can’t sneak up on him. Anna’s quiet, too, and it fits her as well. But the idea of this woman moving around near him, and him not hearing it, skeeves him out. “We’ve missed you. You’ve been busy elsewhere.” Dean sees where Cas got his even, clipped speaking style from, but this woman’s all ice.

“You knew I found a job. And yes, I’m enjoying it.” 

Naomi smiles a smile that does not reach her eyes at all. “You and Anna both. Biological siblings, and all.”

“That’s not what matters,” Cas says, firm. The girl with the Flygon and the dude whose ass she kicked halfway to Hoenn are very pointedly pretending not to listen, inspecting their Pokemon but constantly glancing at the three of them. “Family is.” Dean could kiss him, even more than usual. 

“I thought we were in agreement on that. I suppose I was wrong.” Naomi is still smiling, and it’s still kinda freaking Dean out. Vaporeon’s sticking behind Dean, but she could transform into a Flareon right this second and it still wouldn’t be enough to break the cold in the room. Even Staraptor’s quiet and still on Cas’ shoulder, the usual fierceness in her eyes drained out.

That’s when the poor kid with the Tranquill drops his Pokedex on the floor. The clatter is loud as hell in the eerily quiet room. “Sorry – sorry –” he sputters, as he rushes to pick it up.

Dean expects to see fury on Naomi’s face. But the break in the tension must have been good for her; she’s still smiling, but it actually looks like the smile of a real person now, not some kind of creepy-ass frozen rictus. “Samandriel, those are _expensive_ ,” she chides, but she seems less robotic now than just a few seconds ago. “Muriel, so are those uniforms. Watch the sand attacks.” Dean lets himself breathe.

The rest of the visit to the training center isn’t so… terrifying. There are no more strange digs at the fact that Cas dared to find a normal job that didn’t involve kicking poor Staraptor’s ass day in and day out. Naomi gives him another real smile when Castiel introduces Dean to her and she shakes his hand. By the time they leave, Staraptor and Gothitelle are chasing each other in long loops around the perimeter of the big arena. Vaporeon attempts to keep up with them every time one of them passes her, but she ends up coming back to Dean. Everybody’s havin’ a good time.

When Dean leaves the training center, he’s laughing along with Cas. But he can’t stop thinking about the atmosphere in the room when they first came in, how quiet and still and goddamn creepy it was. 

When they’re at a bar later, waiting for Charlie and Gilda to show up, Dean asks, “Is Naomi, like – is she cool?” He tries to stall for time by reaching for a peanut in one of the small bowls placed throughout the bar, but Staraptor swipes the one he was aiming for.

“Ice cold,” Castiel responds, but he’s offering a small smile. Staraptor drops the peanut in Castiel’s hand. Traitor. “What do you mean?”

“I mean – is she – look, she was cool after, but she wasn’t real friendly when she was talking about your job.”

Cas tosses the peanut in Dean’s direction – thank you, seriously – and sits back in the vinyl seat a bit. “As you can likely tell, Naomi wasn’t the hugs and affection type. She was more the… curt nod after a good battle type.” 

“I can relate,” Dean says, and it’s off-hand but he can’t help the wince that shudders through his body. “Trust me, if anyone outside your family can –”

“I know, and I appreciate it.” Cas pauses, clearly measuring out what he’s going to say next. “Naomi isn’t your father. I’m not saying that. She’s simply very built into her ways. To her, some jobs are worthy and therefore good. These jobs mostly involve Pokemon battling, or working in the police force. Every other job is pointless, and… less good.” 

“Gonna guess volunteering to take care of hurt Pokemon is the latter.”

“Got it in one, unfortunately.” Now it’s Castiel’s turn to grimace. 

“But you’re helping Pokemon –”

“Doesn’t matter, to her.” Dean hates how defeated Cas looks on this subject, and realizes he’s probably had this discussion a thousand times before. “Do you know, when we were training under her, we weren’t even allowed in the Pokemon Center?” 

“You’re kidding me.”

“I am not – kidding you, no. She had her own healing area set up in the training center. We were supposed to use it. She had all the right technology, but figuring it out was difficult with no help allowed.”

Once John died, Dean gave some thought to working as a nurse for either people or more likely, Pokemon. It seemed like a thing Mary would have wanted, and his dad would’ve loathed. But the idea of putting a life in his hands froze him out of the idea; everything he touched tended to fall to ruin anyway. And, in the end, he was too damn cranky for the job. “I wouldn’t want to.”

Cas sighs and looks deeply into the neck of his very cheap beer bottle. “She told me I had too much _heart_ to be a true trainer at a gym. After that, I tried to be on her police staff for a bit, but I kept hearing those words. I didn’t last long there. It isn’t very fun to have an existential crisis at thirty, I’ll tell you that. To hear the confirmation of what you suspected all along, that what you’ve been doing your whole life was not for you.”

He exhales a very long breath, but keeps staring at his beer bottle. For someone who normally meets Dean’s gaze so readily, so openly, it’s notable. 

Dean remembers something like this conversation from outside Shopping Mall Nine. He didn’t know it was quite so personal at the time, though. “Heart’s a good thing, Cas. Not the same situation, but God knows I heard the same from –” 

“Your father,” Cas says, raising his head and meeting Dean’s eyes, which blooms warmth in him.

“Yeah. Just a lotta him saying _I don’t think you were cut out for this stuff, Dean, I’ve tried so hard to push you_. That kind of bull.” Now it’s Dean’s turn to avert his gaze and take a long swig of his beer. Even the littlest criticism of his father, spoken out loud, can exhaust him with all the years and shit piled up behind it. “I’m glad you’re exactly who you are, Cas. If Naomi thinks otherwise, she can stuff it.”

“I don’t mean to badmouth her,” Cas says. “It’s not like Naomi hasn’t helped people. When she worked more extensively with the police, she brought down not only Alastair –” Dean shudders at that, involuntarily, but he flashes a grin when he catches Cas eyeing him with concern – “but Lilith and Azazel too.” 

Carefully, Dean sets down the new peanut shell he’s playing with. “That was her that caught them?”

Azazel and Lilith were two sick puppies. At once, it was disturbing they were married, and yet _completely_ fitting that he two of them had found each other and taken themselves out of the running for everyone else. They owned, respectively, a Hypno and a Drifblim, and brainwashed them to play into every bad and untrue stereotype about those Pokemon. Hypno put people to sleep, and then Drifblim dragged them away to their own fighting ring. 

Unlike Alastair, the people Azazel and Lilith captured weren’t rattling the bars of the Pokemon cages, desperate to get their punches in against a Kangaskhan one of them had stolen. They looped a video of that on the news, the eyes of the people ravenous and practically aflame, the Kangakshan just looking defeated and trying to find somewhere in its cage where she could hide herself from the hands reaching toward her.

But no, the people Azazel and Lilith had under their control were just sad, somnambulant lumps. When the news showed videos of them, it was with the cops leading them out, often literally marching them forward because those people weren’t going anywhere or doing anything of their own volition. The newly-freed prisoners blinked up at the sun, like they were trying to place it from another lifetime. 

The assholes – and that’s a _kind_ word for them – from Alastair’s company got locked away in the highest-security prisons there were, guarded until the end of their lives, kept far far away from Pokemon. The people Azazel and Lilith kidnapped got sent to all kinds of therapy. Pokemon usually got sent along with them to meetings, too, the easygoing and gentle ones like Audino or Happiny. Still, most of the time, those people found themselves flinching away from even the most docile Pokemon. Recovery was rare, and slow.

Dean gets sick every time he thinks about the footage he’s seen of either of those fighting rings, so he shoves those thoughts out of his head. 

“Yes.”

“Well, hell,” Dean says, “wish you’d mentioned that earlier.” His voice is fake-casual; he knows it, and he knows Cas knows it. Dean’s seen a metric ton of shit, and Cas has too, but it’s got nothing on what Naomi’s dealt with. No wonder she’s practically a slammed door. He wouldn’t wanna get too up close and personal to anyone if he’d seen the nastiest writhing guts of humanity either. “Explains a lot, at least. Doesn’t excuse her actin’ like a dick to you.”

“Dean,” Cas says, sounding pained. He starts stroking Vaporeon’s back very purposefully, like that stretch of scales could alleviate any stress he’s feeling from both his hard-ass sorta-mom and his completely tactless boyfriend. “She’s a good woman. She protected me. She’s the one who truly raised most of the people I love the most in the world.” The way Cas has his gaze screwed tight on Dean makes him flush. “She _isn’t Zachariah_.”

Point taken. “We love who we love, I get it. She just wants the best for you. As long as you’re happy.”

“I am. Trust me, I am.” Cas lets the small smile spread wider over his face. Dean worries he does nothing but stare at him goofily, mirroring his smile with one of his, until Charlie and Gilda show up and they all destroy some burgers and plates of fries together.

*

Dean can’t exactly take Cas to meet the family. Instead of letting that wrench him apart, he does the next best thing, strange as it is: he takes him to John’s storage locker. 

The same blonde guard, Donna, sits behind the desk. She even gives him a cheery wave; their arrival is probably a nice change from her picking doughnuts out of the carton on her desk and occasionally sneaking some to her Wigglytuff. “Can’t resist!” she trills, leading them to the ornately-covered door of John’s locker. The expressions on the faces of the Swords of Justice have somehow become more menacing, but Dean brushes it off. 

Dean slammed the door on this place, literally and figuratively, when he was done selling all the shit he could; now’s the first time he’s been back in months. His excavations only made the storage locker even more chaotic. Most of the stuff in there now is nothing but broken trash, and Dean’s careful when he picks his way around, because the floor is littered with glass shards. Staraptor and Vaporeon wait by the huge door, not bothering to come inside. Dean doesn’t blame them. 

Cas has a different point of view about all the junk in here, of course. He almost always does. He runs his fingers over seemingly every broken figurine, even the ones that are in pieces to the point where they’re beyond recognition. He picks through the slivers on the floor, carefully. He’s so damn strange.

It’s just like this, where Cas is crouched on the floor so he can poke his way through the absolute valueless detritus of a dark and dusty storage locker left to Dean by his shithole of a dad, when Dean realizes he loves Cas. 

It should freak Dean out way more. This never ends well. But knowing this about Cas, it just feels right.

Cas remains oblivious to Dean’s revelation. “This is incredible,” he murmurs as he lifts up an Articuno figurine. Once upon a time, this would have been gorgeous, covered in dazzling crystal that gleams even in this dusty, dark storage room, but time and chaos has popped off half the figure’s gems, and dull plaster takes up the blank spots. One of the wings on the figurine is snapped clean off, and both the feet. Cas marvels over it anyway, just like he gawked over a misshapen Lugia figurine with a freakishly distended abdomen and wooden models of the Hoenn legends that were too rudimentary to sell to anybody.

“Just junk,” Dean says. He picks up a Jirachi figurine – God, there are a million of these things, he already sold at least ten and they’re still everywhere – and tosses it from one hand to another. “Already sold most of the stuff that wasn’t ruined. I’m lucky I had the good stuff in here along with the crap.” 

Cas has put the Articuno figurine down. He’s currently examining one of the Jirachi Dean didn’t sell; this one’s plain wood, most of the paint peeled off. Something about the blank face on it creeped Dean out. Cas takes a moment to smile up at Dean, though. “You have plenty of that. The good stuff, as you say.”

Dean ducks his head. He’s pretending to be poking at some of the leftover figurines, but really, he doesn’t want Cas to see his smile in response. If they catch each other looking like that, Dean knows, he’ll say something he regrets. Something that’s desperately trying to roll on out of his mouth, anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

For all the time they spend together, Dean and Cas actually don’t have very similar work schedules, which they both suspect is on purpose. “It’s not like we’re going to maul each other in public and scar the Pokemon children for life,” Cas says. _The Pokemon children_. That’s so Cas. 

Dean leaves for work one day, and kisses Cas, to only a grunt. At least it’s a satisfying grunt. He takes the bus to work; the grounds of Edlund are strangely empty. Increased security, he thinks. It must be. But when he goes up to Tessa’s office to punch in, the door’s locked. 

Tessa’s locked the door more than a couple of times when she’s been at work. When Dean asked her why, she answered, rather cheerfully, that calling the donors to the nursery all day would make anyone homicidal. Still, she’s clearly not in her office; the telltale signs of Absol scratching at the door, even nudging at it with his side-horn, are absent. It’s silent. Jody’s not here, either.

It’s only now that Dean starts to notice there are a lot more workers on the floor than usual. They don’t have a dress code at the center, but these new guys are all dressed in pristine suits. The sawdust doesn’t stick to their shoes, even. They make Dean feel shabby in his plaid and jeans and work boots, and he’s sure he gets a few disdainful glances at his tattoos.

Mostly, though, Dean’s pissed because the assholes keep handling the Pokemon. They’re not careful about it, either, scooping them up with both hands while not supporting their bottom halves, so the poor little guys wriggle desperately. “Can you all watch out?” he hisses, a little too loud, which gets him exponentially more glares. Shit.

Two people emerge from the crowd, walking swiftly toward Dean. They’re a balding middle-aged guy wearing all black – all very _expensive-looking_ black – and an older woman with her red hair in big curls. Dean tries not to laugh at the fact that two people who look that impressive are accompanied by a Poochyena, of all Pokemon, and a Honchkrow that’s clearly been over-groomed and sprouts absurdly puffy feathers. “Can we help you, dearie?” the woman asks. Her accent isn’t the kind you hear much around here. 

“Uh, yeah, I work here? Who are you?” His tone is still too snippy.

“I’m Rowena and this is my _lovely_ son Fergus –”

“Crowley,” he sighs. 

“Right.” Her smile _stretches_ ; Dean’s never seen anything like it. “We were hired by Edlund University! Something about them feeling like Jody and Tessa, bless their precious hearts, weren’t doing their part to promote the Pokemon nursery.” 

Dean’s met the woman who occasionally inspects the nursery, and other properties on Edlund’s campus. Her name’s Linda, and even though she’s almost a full head shorter than Jody, she carries herself like she could seriously kick anyone’s ass at any given moment. Most of her inspections are spent laughing warmly with Jody or Tessa. Dean’s pretty sure Vaporeon has a huge crush on her Greninja, who loves to take big hops from one enclosure to the next and scoop the baby Pokemon under his arms. 

No, he doesn’t think no-nonsense Linda would ever hire simpering smoothtalkers like these. They’re like telemarketers. They’re like, from what Cas has told him and what Dean’s seen on his stupid billboards, _Zachariah_.

“Well, this ain’t Shopping Mall Nine. We’re not here to turn a profit. We’re supposed to be taking care of the Pokemon.” Dean’s heart hasn’t stopped thudding way too fast since he walked in. No one else he knows is around. 

“Ooh, don’t you worry your wee head about it,” Rowena says, tapping Dean gently on the chest. Dean kind of wants to brush his shirt off right after she’s done. “We’re taking care of the babies. And think about how well a nursery run by a mother-son duo will go.” 

“I prefer to think of it as a particularly entrepreneurial man, and his ever-so-supportive mom.”

“A mother-son duo,” Rowena repeats, and drifts over to Crowley’s side. She slings her arm around his shoulders, only her nails bite hard into his shoulder. Whatever point she’s trying to make, it’s taken. “We’ve got _connections_! Business could be booming here in no time.”

Still, Dean’s not impressed. “Where’s Tessa? Or Jody? Or anyone else who works here?” He thinks of Victor, who sure as hell wouldn’t let himself be bullied into anything; the idea of any _coercion_ they might have tried makes Dean sick. 

“You really _are_ quite the worrier!” Rowena clicks her tongue. “They met us all earlier. Jody and Tessa still work here, just in, shall we say, reduced capacity.”

Dean doesn’t like the sound of that at all. But before he gets much of a chance to think about it, Crowley cuts in. “As a matter of fact, they’re interviewing with us! Just a few preliminary questions. We’re sure they’ll pass muster again, and you all can – have your fun together.” Dean’s a little freaked out by Rowena’s skeleton grin, but Crowley’s smile makes it looks like he wants to devour Dean alive. “They’re all in the back.” He motions to Dean to follow him.

Dean isn’t _completely_ stupid. He knows a bad situation when he’s dunked into one. God knows enough people tried to lure him to back alleys when he was growing up, and even if they managed to separate him from what would be a very furious Vaporeon, they still met the business end of Dean’s frankly awesome left hook. 

He finds himself saying alright anyway. Vaporeon’s plodding behind him, a very deliberate look on her face; she must know this is bad news, but she isn’t one to back down from anything she considers a challenge either. She can take just about anything they’d throw at her, anyway. 

“I’ll escort you, then.” Crowley swings open a door that Dean’s never been through, or even noticed. He’s pretty sure he never saw Tessa or Jody open it, either. This situation keeps just getting better and better. It may be a normal hallway, at least, but there’s a flickering fluorescent light about twenty feet ahead that doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence. 

Dean takes one look out over the crowd. There aren’t a lot of women in this dubious group, but he suddenly realizes there _is_ one particular woman he recognizes: Delta. 

“Hey!” he calls out. She looks up, notices Dean, and lets a flicker of recognition pass over her face. Something like horror might accompany it, too. Before she says anything, she immediately snaps her gaze back to the well-trodden floors. Great. Fantastic. 

The door slams shut behind Dean, snapping off the tether to what feels like his only lifeline. 

Together, Dean and Crowley head down and down and down through the hallway. No wonder no one used it; it’s empty and seemingly endless. Crowley walked slowly, too damn slowly, but his steps still clanked against the floors with every step he took. “So, you guys from around here?” Dean asks, hoping there’s just enough irreverence coating his words.

Crowley doesn’t respond. This is goin’ great. Normally, Poochyena have stupidly cute puppy antics; they’ll follow their owner around and playfully snap at their ankles. This Poochyena does nothing like that. He merely walks along, following Crowley’s deliberate pace, showing no sign of a personality at all. That, more than anything else, more than the fact that Dean’s walking into the guts of a building he doesn’t know at all, freaks Dean out.

“Really, this is where you took Tessa and Jody. This is where they _let_ you take them.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Crowley says, turning around to look at him for the first time in a while. The fluorescents are flickering too much now, enough that Dean’s vision gets obscured. He can still see Crowley’s eyes, though, and they’re sharp, too sharp. “They followed my _mother_ down here.” 

“You call that a comeback? That’s a two. Three, if I was feeling generous.” 

“Imagine what I could do for you if _I_ was feeling generous.” The lights are giving him a goddamn headache. “I could like you, Dean, I really could, in some other time. You’re so _charming_. I wouldn’t worry about Jody and Tessa, by the way. You’ll get to see them as much as you want very, very soon.” 

Dean catches Crowley’s knife-twist smile. And then darkness, as swift and neat, swallows him up.

That wasn’t a headache, Dean realizes as he hits the ground, motionless, unable to see anything but Crowley’s expensive-ass wingtips and Vaporeon’s wide, panicked, _frozen_ eyes. There’s something jabbed into the back of his neck – 

*

Dean comes to in a goddamn cage. It’s a big cage, sure, but it’s still a cage, and he uselessly curls his hands around the bars and shakes them. For now, there’s nothing beyond him but a big white room, too brightly lit. At least he’s pretty sure _this_ headache is legit.

He picks at the sides of the cage. He’s no genius, but he didn’t work as a civil engineer for nothing. Figuring shit like this out was kind of in the job description. 

There’s no give here, though. Dean can’t jimmy the lock. He could appreciate just how well-structured this cage is, if only he wasn’t trapped in it.

He’s got no idea where they could’ve even found this thing. It’s not like he could go to a Pokemon supply store and buy one along with kibble. Only the very worst Pokemon trainers, the _Alastairs_ of the world, would cage up a Pokemon. Speaking of Pokemon, Vaporeon’s just – gone. 

Dean fights the panic that swirls up in his brain, churning until it froths at the side of his skull. She’s smart, he knows. Resourceful. She’ll probably have to come rescue _him_. But nothing is right about this situation, so when he exhales, it might as well be clouds of pure worry.

Dean can’t pick any lock on the cage. In fact, the cage doesn’t seem to have a lock at all. There’s no other way out, no loose bottom or screws to pop off. It’s probably as close to escape-proof as possible. 

He’s trying to figure out what the fuck he’s going to do next, when the door to the room itself opens. Dean can’t quite see who comes in from his point of view, but the person leaves the door open. A Steelix sticks his enormous head through the doorway and snorts, an eruption of sound in the tiny room.

A fucking Steelix. They can grow to hundreds of feet long, and one of them is on the other end of the room from him. Wherever the hell Dean is, it’s gotta be much bigger than some little sideroom in the Edlund nursery. 

He doesn’t have much time to think about where he could be, though, because Steelix’s owner approaches Dean’s cage. He’s a short man, in khakis and the same bland oatmeal-colored cardigan. Sure, he’s one ugly son of a bitch, but it’s the look in his eyes, and the outright hideous too-sharp closed mouth smile that really makes Dean flinch away from him.

“Oh, Dean. I’ve heard _so much_ about you,” he says in this horribly cloying voice, Combee honey sticky but just all wrong. It takes every damn ounce of Dean’s courage to keep staring this asshole in the eye. 

“All good, I hope.”

“Depends on your interpretation. Certainly brave, but stupidly so. Loyal to fault. I guess the two of those explain why you’re back here, and why you didn’t run like anyone with half a brain cell.”

Dean keeps his eyes locked right on this jackass. Anything else would mean he _won_. 

“Anyway, I’m not interested in your particular failings. Humans are so disappointing in so many ways. Except myself and my friends.” This guy’s a winner, that’s for sure. “I’m Marv. You don’t know me. Cas, though – he just might. His dad’s been bankrolling me for _years_. Good guy, that Zachariah. Truly willing to help a friend out.”

If Dean needed any more confirmation this Marv guy sucks, he just got it.

“Doin’ what,” Dean asks, because he can’t help it.

Marv practically erupts with a long-suffering sigh. “Don’t you think the _economics_ of this place need an overhaul?”

“What place.”

He throws his hands up. “All of this place! The world, Dean.”

No, Dean _doesn’t_ think that. Thanks to Pokemon, the economy’s been completely balanced for years. There’s no need to worry about energy or transportation, since Pokemon easily provide it. Huge corporations and tiny family-run businesses alike dedicate themselves to Pokemon and their trainers. 

This economy doesn’t screw anyone over, either. Even the tiniest of towns has at least one hospital and a Pokemon Center with the latest technology. Social services are free.

Dean knows plenty of people who had a shitty time of things. Himself, Cas and his siblings, even Charlie. Too many kids in Opelucid. But in terms of the bigger picture, both Unova and the world as a whole thrive. No one thinks the _economics_ have to change.

“Of course,” Marv continues, “This means we have to – make some creative adjustments to the way the economy works. I know you are _woefully_ undereducated compared to your brother –” and at the mention of Sam, Dean’s breath does a funny ruddered thing, because what if there’s a way worse, all but unthinkable, reason why Dean hasn’t been able to get in touch with him other than inter-region communications being fucked right now – “but do you know why Pokemon and humans are able to live on the same planet? We certainly don’t have the brawn, and compared to most of the Psychic types, we don’t even have the brains. _Some_ of us don’t,” he amends.

“Over millions of years, Pokemon evolved not to kill unless it was for food.” Dean hopes it sounds way more like _fuck you_ than something he learned sitting in those cramped lecture chairs at school, when he actually attended. 

Marv should honestly never smile. “Ooh, a point to you,” he says. “But, yes. Of course, we think that’s a bit of an evolutionary stumble. But we’re working to correct it. For too long, we humans have been right under the heel of collective Pokemon might. One tiny step, and they crush us all. We’re just trying to make that might work for us.”

Dean’s gut fucking dive-bombs. “You guys are supposed to be the smart ones? You’re going to let fire and electricity and _poison_ run rampant? Opelucid is full of kids who lost their parents just looking for Dragon-types. Your brain would scramble just from standing next to an Alakazam –”

“Not _my_ brain, Dean. We’ve got plenty of – well, I can’t call them volunteers, now can I. Test subjects, to try it out.” 

A world where Pokemon could kill would be a world that wouldn’t exist. Most people are way too suspicious of Dark and Ghost, and sometimes Psychic, types _now_ ; if those Pokemon were actually causing harm, it would lead to mass slaughter, one that Pokemon would likely win in the end with brute force. They’d inherit a devastated world, a completely undesirable one. 

And that’s before factoring in the elements, volcanic flames and and jagged, angry lightning. The wrath of the ocean and the bulk of an iceberg. Deadly plant spores, rock slides thundering down, the earth itself splitting open, and hell, even the fists of Fighting-types pummeling you to pulp without any other bells and whistles – 

Yeah. It would be pretty fucking bad. 

Again, serious injuries in Pokemon battle were incredibly rare, and fatalities were all but unheard of. But there were still times when Dean sat in a Pokemon Center for too long, waiting for the nurses and their Blisseys to heal Vaporeon. Every damn time she bounded out from behind the counter and landed right back at Dean’s side, it was a sigh of relief made whole. 

Even considering those nights, Dean’s still never been as glad to see her as he is in this moment, when she flies into the room, screeching _Veeeeeee!_ and snapping her tail back and forth, whip-fast and fierce. She lands right on top of the Steelix’s head; he hasn’t quite passed out after her attack, but his head sinks heavy to the ground. Dirty water, speckled with soil, drips from his jaw and puddles on the floor, creeping into the room. It doesn’t look so pristine now. Good.

Carefully, others press their way past Steelix’s enormous body and face to climb into the room. Cas is the first to emerge, and Dean didn’t think his heart could rat-a-tat any faster but he was wrong. Anna follows him. Victor’s after her, in full Opelucid Police gear, the four Swords of Justice glaring in gold from the badge above his heart. 

“Marv Anglus,” Victor says. “We found Jody and Tessa. Had a good long talk with them. I think you know what that means for you, and all your little buddies like Crowley and Rowena back at Edlund.”

Marv doesn’t even react. “Your own little platoon, how charming,” is what he says. He’s looking straight at Victor, with a look in his eye that Dean doesn’t like at all. “But I’ll be damned if I sit in a jail cell and rot forever while you all ruin everything we’ve planned so meticulously.” The next gesture he makes is curious, arms straight out and palms turned up. He looks up at the ceiling, and the fucking asshole grins. “Steelix. _Self-Destruct_.”

From the doorway, Steelix manages to lift his head – barely. He blinks, just once. It’s such a normal reaction. 

Dean doesn’t even get the chance to think _oh shit_. 

What Dean does remember, though, is that big jagged smile from Marv, before all is the blazing white heat from the blast and he can feel pain like one long scream, and nothing at all at once.

A familiar electric blue flashes behind his eyelids, insistent. But it must be the last thought of a desperate man, because everything after that falls dark and silent.

*

Hospitals suck. Unlike malls, they _actually_ suck.

They always have. They’re even worse than Pokemon Centers. The first time Dean can remember being in one, it was because Sammy fell down a flight of stairs. This was back when he was just a snotty kid, with freaky big feet, before the rest of his body (and his stupid hair) played catch-up. 

Sam ended up okay, but it was too long a wait until the doctors told them that. At least he had Mom there alongside him. They played I Spy games until Dean fell asleep in his hard plastic chair; they got glares when she’d imitate Pokemon cries and he’d laugh in return, but the two of them brushed them off. Together. 

The next time he was in the hospital, it was for her. And the news wasn’t nearly as good.

On his dad’s trek around Unova, Dean found himself in hospital after hospital. Not all of those trips were bad. The summer when he was fourteen, Dean busted his toe running from a couple of wild Houndour. Running wasn’t too effective anyway, as it turned out; those bites hurt like a _bitch_ and steamed acridly for days after. But Dean’s injury meant the three of them had to stay in quiet Floccesy through the rest of the year. 

Most trips to the hospital, though, were tedious visits full of lies about how he got those bruises. How school was going. If he was alright.

And now he’s back in one. Most of his body feels nothing at all, which he suspects is due to the drip stuck into his arm, but when he does move his body reverberates with ache like a struck church bell. At least in those small moments he can feel something, anything at all. There’s nobody else in his room. No Vaporeon, no Cas – fuck.

As if summoned by thought, one of the generic Nurse Joys found in all hospitals opens the door and immediately veers in front of him. “Dean?” He can barely nod, but he manages it. “Oh, wonderful,” she says. She’s a nice lady, they all are, but Dean kind of wants her to give him a damn moment. “We were waiting for you to wake up, you have some very enthusiastic visitors –”

“That is correct,” comes a low growl. Smiling hurts, but goddamn if one doesn’t spread over his face right as Cas comes into view. Dean reaches for his hand and grips it tight, probably too tight, but it’s just what he needs right now. Cas is solid and real and _holding_ him, not blown to bits, not screaming blue light.

Anna follows right behind him. Vaporeon scurries into the room at her heels, while Staraptor and Pidgeot duck their way through the door. Thank God. Staraptor’s wing seems a bit wobbly, and Vaporeon has a big bandage on her side that all but cracks Dean’s heart in pieces, at least until she makes a running jump onto Dean’s hospital bed and sticks her clammy little paws right next to him. It hurts his chest to laugh, but he does so anyway when she bats at him a bit, affectionately. 

“No one knows how you survived,” Anna says, answering the question Dean’s been too damn nervous to ask. Joy looks a little deflated that someone beat her to the punch. “No one should have came out of that alive. Only Marv –” She doesn’t need to say any more. Dean thinks he should feel worse about that, no matter how horrible the guy was.

“Is everyone else alright?” 

“Everyone else is fine. They all ended up in the hospital too, but like you, all they got were some minor injuries. Those assholes were keeping Jody and Tessa in a _storage closet_ , can you believe it?”

“I can’t believe they thought they’d actually _stay_ in there.” Humor is a good thing.

He thinks he sees Anna chuckle at that, even. “Victor already insisted on leaving.” Dean’s kinda jealous Victor beat him to it. “I don’t talk like this much, but it’s a miracle.”

A miracle. Dean’s thought those words before. He keeps having them drop right in his lap, like he’s something special. But he’s just some jackass who had a rough childhood and who isn’t contributing a whole lot to society. He wants to take all those _miracles_ and give them to sick kids. Hell, the Pokemon in the nursery deserve them more than he does. Or his mom, long gone. She could have used a miracle too.

“That Steelix?” he asks, weakly. It’s gonna be a long time before he gets the image of Steelix’s long blink, right before he blew himself the fuck up because his trainer commanded it, out of his head. The Steelix might’ve been Marv’s, but he didn’t ask for any of that.

“Had to rush him to the nice Pokemon Center in Naomi’s part of town,” Anna says. “They were able to graft almost all of his skin and covering back onto him. He had to get his own separate wing, he’s that large, and it’s going to be a long recovery, but he’s fine.”

“We might even see that Steelix at the nursery, once we deal with getting it back.” God, Cas’ smile. Dean could drink it. He wishes it was the substance they were dripping into him, as opposed to whatever it actually is, something the color of water and the consistency of jelly that dulls him except for the occasional achy stab.

“Baby Pokemon might mind. That’s a big roommate,” Dean points out. He’s smiling, though, when he says it. The smile stretches a bruise on his face and hurts like a son of a bastard, but he’s lucky to have it.

“We’ll convince them. You’ll convince them, you’re good at it.” Two of Cas’ fingers are stroking Dean’s palm.

Joy keeps looking around the room. Her eyes flit from Dean and Cas’ entwined hands, to the water stain Vaporeon’s leaving on the blankets, to Staraptor’s wobbly flight pattern. When she meets Anna’s eyes, who seems to be trying very hard to out-concern her, Joy takes a step back. “Well, you all need to catch up,” she says, still as treacly as ever. “There’s a buzzer if you need me.” 

She’s barely shut the door when Cas moves right up against Dean’s side, as close as the bed will allow him. Staraptor’s been circling the room slowly, but now she settles on the back of a chair. Vaporeon jumps over and starts batting at her claws. Dean would shoo her away if Staraptor showed any sign of annoyance, but she merely flutters her wings and wraps one around Vaporeon’s side.

With no preamble, Cas says, “Dean, I remember you now,” and there it is. Dean doesn’t have to ask what the hell he means. Back then, it was night, and Dean’s heart couldn’t stop thudding at the danger of it all, and the wind kept whipping Cas’ coat around until he looked like some kind of goddamn superhero. Which to Dean, he kind of was. 

Now, he’s got his hand on Dean’s arm, warm and close and safe and weirdly dwarfed by his clothing. But it’s that same expression, forward and fierce like his Staraptor. “I remember everything.” His eyes go wide. “You were amazing –”

“ _I_ was?” Dean laughs. “You’re sayin’ I was amazing – you remember the way _you_ handled it?” 

“With Staraptor’s help,” Cas insists, as said Staraptor puffs up her feathers and looks at him with something approaching approval. From her, it’s a generous gift. “With _your_ help.” 

“I’m not _here_ without you.”

Cas looks around. “You’re in the hospital,” he says, in a tone that makes it very clear how evident he considers that statement. “I’d prefer you anywhere else.” 

“I’m breathing.” That’s all Dean could ever count on.

His mouth is still open to protest, but Cas is already leaning in and covering it up with his own. The angle’s awkward as hell, but Dean doesn’t mind. It’s everything good Cas’ kisses have ever been, and a sweet comfort to boot. Dean’s probably kinda high on painkillers, but he melts right into it, letting their tongues slick together. Carefully, he raises one hand, letting it cup the back of Cas’ neck and push him forward.

A loud cough interrupts them. It’s Anna. They both at least have the decency to look sheepish when they break apart. 

“Amazing,” Dean says. “Like I said.”

“ _I_ said that,” Cas returns, with humor. “I’ve still got no idea where any of it came from. It was all instinct.”

“Instinct doesn’t shoot out – blue light.” Dean states the obvious, and yet not, because _blue light_ doesn’t encompass the thrill it ripped through him. Just _blue light_ doesn’t get immortalized on his shoulder.

“Or red,” Anna adds. “I – I remember too. Not that I remember much but distracting Zachariah while I snuck out.”

“You told me about the Shinx in the alley.” 

Anna looks sheepish at that. “Couple of guys, didn’t look like good news, they caught a Shinx running around,” she explains to Dean. “I blasted them out of the way. Got the little guy to safety – Edlund Nursery, actually. Then…” 

“Then what?” Dean asks, after a few seconds of silence.

“No idea.” Cas sighs. “Huge chunks of our memories are still missing. We don’t know why we lost those memories, and we don’t know why we have these powers. Or even what they are.”

“At least now you know you have ‘em,” Dean chimes in. “Maybe now we can think about getting some answers. Can’t get anything done without a start.”

Because nothing is allowed to be too calm for too long, apparently, the door to the room opens. Dean twists his body, fighting off the wince and expecting to tell the Joy on duty that they need a little more time to reunite and sort things out. To say the least. 

But instead, a distinctly non-Joy woman enters the room. She’s short, with sandy hair in a spiky pixie cut, wearing a yellow onesie with her hands jabbed deep in the pockets. A puff of a Whimsicott follows her.

Her hair’s shorter than it was in the picture Anna showed Dean. But _Gabriel_ still looks like trouble, even after all those years.

Shit.

“A patient room? Shoot,” Gabriel says, with a look at Dean. “Have you seen –”

Cas and Anna just _stare_ at their sister, and she stares right back. She actually says “ha ha” out loud, awkward as hell, and then Anna’s darting forward fast as her Pidgeot to pin her against the wall, forearm held hard against her collarbone. 

Dean’s first instinct is to find some way to actually move and pull Anna back, but when he glances at Cas, the dude looks like he’s gonna pop his top even more than Anna. “I was going to find you guys soon anyway,” Gabriel croaks, voice choked by Anna’s arm.

“Just like you’ve been trying to find us all this time, Gabriel?” Cas hurls out.

“I can explain,” she says, attempting to hold her hands up to placate Anna and Cas. All it gets her is Anna fixing her harder against the wall. “You guys are why I’m in the hospital anyway. Well, two of you. Who’s the hunk? New meat for Zachariah and Naomi? Guess he got all the good genes in the family.”

“Distracting us isn’t going to work,” Anna says, in a tight voice that Dean’s never heard from her before. Even Pidgeot’s looking at Gabriel with his head slightly askew, the proud look in his eyes cranked up to fury. “You’ve got a _lot_ to tell us.” 

Gabriel smiles, the most incongruous reaction. “If I said there was no excuse for letting you all think I was dead for years and going on the lam, would you let up a bit? Kinda crushing my windpipe here, big sis.” 

Anna narrows her eyes a bit; there’s no warmth in them at all, especially considering that she’s seeing her presumed-deceased sibling for the first time in over a decade. Still, she moves her arm back a centimeter or two, just enough that Gabriel can take a seriously overexaggerated gasp and grin at her. Anna pushes her arm back about half the length she just left off, and, okay, point taken. The grin drops right off Gabriel’s face.

For his part, Gabriel’s Whimsicott has managed to curl his way into a corner, and he’s staring at what’s in front of him with a big frown. They’re naturally expressive Pokemon, so normally Dean might find his tiny cartoon face kind of funny, but the situation – well, it just isn’t.

“Seriously,” Gabriel continues, “I owe you one fucking hell of an apology. And you’ll get it. But I ran away for _you_. I stayed away for you. I’m here for you.”

Anna steps back again, full-on glowering. “Talk,” Cas demands. 

“There’s a lotta exposition you’ll get later, brother dearest,” Gabriel says, walking over to scoop up her Whimsicott, who burrows right into her arms. It’s totally not adorable. “Look, we all know Zack is the goddamn worst. I packed up and moved into Naomi’s training center when he tried to vacuum up this little guy too many times. Dust mites, my _ass_ , he just wanted to get a rise out of me. But Naomi – the shit I saw –”

“What the hell did you see?” Anna asks.

“ _You_ guys.” Gabriel pauses. Dean, Cas, and Anna just blink at her. “I was expecting way more than that. Some dramatic gasps? Fainting? Fine. I stumbled across a room where you two were on gurneys, unconscious, with Gothitelle looking real interested in the proceedings. And when Naomi found me in there? Whoo, boy, did she hustle me out.” 

“Naomi always said you had quite the knack for storytelling.” The hesitation etched across Anna’s brow is starting to loosen. 

Gabriel just snorts. After Dean’s spent so much time around Cas, who’s almost always so damn stoic, and his very similar siblings, Gabriel’s an absolute shock. “That’s a perfectly passive-aggressive way of saying something not-so-nice about her presumed-dead daughter. Anyway, Naomi’s sketchy as hell. I couldn’t come back until I got any solid evidence, but I got these now, so sister dear is back to stay.” She pulls the folders out from under her arms and hands them to Anna and Cas. “None for the stud, tragically.”

“His name is Dean,” Cas says, pained.

“Yeah, only you get to call me stud,” Dean jokes, even if it hurts his chest to get a laugh out. The smile Cas gives him in return is so damn warm Dean wants to live in it. 

Anna, at least, isn’t caught up in some weird staring contest. “These are just lists of dates,” she snaps, plucking papers out of the folder. 

“Of _surgical procedures_ ,” Gabriel points out. “With your names all over them. When’s the last time you guys were in here?” 

“Never,” Cas says.

“It’s ‘cuz he’s made of hardy stuff,” Dean chimes in from the bed. He’s tempted to make a truly terrible joke about just how _hardy_ that _stuff_ is, but the situation ain’t exactly appropriate.

Still, all he gets is Gabe throwing her hands up best she can, while Whimsicott is tucked against her side. Much as he doesn’t want to like her at all, because of the absolute hostility that’s still wafting off Anna and Cas, watching the little guy cuddle up to Gabriel in utter adoration proves endearing as hell. “You two are gonna make this impossible for me,” she snaps.

“Last time I was in the hospital was maybe fifteen years ago,” Anna interrupts, thankfully changing the topic. “Tried to go flying with Pidgeot, I think. Not sure how sober I was that time.”

“Little Miss Anna, drinking? I never,” Gabriel says, mock-swooning and clasping a hand to her chest. “Anyway, you’re practically runnin’ the hospital outta ink with this chart.” Dean leans his neck forward so he can see. The last date on there is from just under a year ago. There must be twenty dates on the chart, at least once every year.

Cas plucks the folders out of Gabriel’s hands and turns them this way and that, like twisting them upside down will solve all the mysteries of the world. “Do you know what the charts were for?”

“Nope. Confidential. Amazing I was able to get my hot little hands on ‘em. One thing I do know. You guys were always brought in by Naomi.” There’s another pause. It’s more contemplative, not a pause where the other three people in the room are attempting to keep up with Gabriel’s constant verbal ping-ponging, but she sighs showily anyway. “Seriously, I keep expecting you guys to – react, or some shit. Maybe I should go back on the lam, cuz life with you two? Boh-ring.” 

“Don’t you dare –”

“Take a joke, bro.” Cas’ face twists with the ferocity of a wild Pokemon, and Anna’s face is stained nearly the same shade as her hair, but Gabriel’s practically gliding over the floor she’s so casual. She plucks the folders from Cas and tosses them on Dean’s bed. “Ow,” he grunts, but she’s got her back to him by then.

“You guys check those out,” she tells them, halfway out the door and not looking back. “When you wanna visit mommy dearest? Gimme a call.”

She slams the door shut loudly enough that the supposedly soothing but mostly just infantile pastel-colored painting of a lake hung up in the room rattles on its frame. The rattling stops after a couple of seconds; the frame steadies itself. Dean wishes he could do the same.

*

Dean doesn’t stay in the hospital long after that; it’s four days before he’s outta there. Had to go through too many tests before that, but it’s over with. Everything checked out fine. He doesn’t think the Joys in the place appreciated someone that cursed that much and was that damn cranky, anyway.

He calls Tessa almost immediately after he gets out. “Hey there, workaholic,” she groans into the phone. “Wish I could give you an update, but there’s nothing. Edlund told me they’re _going in a different direction_ when I called about my job.”

“But that’s bullshit,” Dean says. “You got kidnapped! Thrown in a closet!” 

Tessa just sighs. “Well, I’m fine. More thankful for that than the job. It’s _almost_ like those rich assholes keeping the place afloat could tell I didn’t like them much and I’m paying for it now.” 

“We could get Charlie to hack the system?”

“We could, and I’m sure she could do it, but – Dean. You can tell there’s something deeper going on here, right?” She sounds frightened, a tone Dean doesn’t hear from her much. Tessa’s got a damn Absol at her side; she doesn’t scare easy. 

The thing is, Dean gets it. Charlie changing the records in one database – hell, even Charlie gleefully siphoning money out of a bunch of their bank accounts – isn’t going to make anyone able to get in touch with any other regions. It’s not going to make the protests on campus stop. It’s not going to get them the nursery back.

No, what they need to do is reach into the guts of the whole damn operation and rip them the fuck out. 

Dean tells Cas as much over dinner that night. Vaporeon keeps giving Dean wary looks, which probably means it’s a horrifically bad idea. Dean’s sure it is, but he’s fuckin’ tired of the world being caught in this standstill. It’s gotta break. 

Cas only nods. “Something’s wrong,” he says, and returns to his pasta. 

Dean was expecting more from him. A lot more. Cas gets _angry_ at this shit all the time. Just a few days ago, a Joy steered him back to Dean’s hospital room, and told him, her speech flustered, that he had just visited Jody in her room and sworn very specific revenge against the assholes that trapped her in the storage closet. “I don’t want to repeat what he said,” she told him, face pale. 

At the kitchen table, though, Dean bites back anything else he might have wanted to say, and picks up a forkful of his own food and eats it. He tries not to be resentful toward Cas, of all people.

Dean wastes too much time watching television anyway, but now that he’s been told by both doctors and Cas that he has to _rest_ , he’s gleefully spending hours upon hours on the sofa with his leg obnoxiously propped up on Cas’ lap. Of course, Cas doesn’t say a thing; dude can be cranky, but he’s also got the patience of those marble Rhydon statues stuck in almost every gym. He drifts his fingers up and down Dean’s bad leg, careful but with just enough pressure like he could heal it if he really tried. 

One of the old Brycen-Man PokeStar Studio movies is on. Dean’s seen it a million times, enough that he can practically recite the dialogue. Cas, though, only seems vaguely aware of who Brycen-Man even _is_ , which might as well be a crime in Dean’s world. 

“Is he a bad guy?” Cas asks, squinting at the television. He’s sitting up, and it’s hard for Dean to keep his leg in Cas’ lap. One of the best action scenes of the whole series is on screen, Brycen-Man’s Bisharp slashin’ away at a horde of baddies and their Pokemon, and of course, Cas is talking through it. Life’s rough. 

“He’s not a _good_ guy,” Dean says. “He steals. He’s violent.” _Naomi wouldn’t approve_ , Dean very notably does _not_ say. “But he wants to stop the other bad guys, the ones on his turf. And they’re worse.”

Dean hasn’t seen Gabe since she showed up in his hospital room. But he’s seen Cas on the phone, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching his nose and then telling Dean afterward that it was _nothing_. No problems. 

“Cas, we gotta –” He’s already missed too much of the awesome fight scene. He might as well press on. “It’s gettin’ to the point where we gotta do something.”

“I know,” Cas says, sounding completely morose. “I just –” He drops his forehead into his hands, and scrubs his palms over his face. The gesture is so unfamiliar from Cas. “I need some time to think.” 

“People are in danger,” Dean snaps, harsher than he wanted. “You’ve seen it; I know you’ve seen it. You told me you admired Claire for her bravery before I had the balls to even agree with you. You know the shit that’s going on now, it’s all wrong –”

Cas stands up from the sofa. “I’m not sure _what_ to think lately.” 

“Is it the Gabe thing –”

Dean could swear, for just a second, Cas’ eyes flash screaming blue. “Yes, I suspect it’s related to the _Gabe thing_.” The snarl in his voice is barely contained. “I thought she was dead for _years_ , Dean. That’s what I was _told_ by someone I thought I could trust, because they were there for me when the man who calls himself my father wasn’t. And now –”

“The whole world’s fallin’ apart.” 

There’s a long pause. “Something like that.” 

“I get it,” Dean says. “I do.”

They’re still quiet for the rest of the movie, even through the commercials. 

Coverage rolls over to the news. On the screen, the newscaster has a big, exaggerated frown on her face. “Tensions continued to flare at Edlund University today, when protesters clashed with police. Several arrests are being reported.”

And shit. _Shit_. The tape starts rolling, and the first thing Dean sees is Claire bolting away, her braids bouncing with her wide strides. Her Noibat desperately flutters after her, until she snatches him out of the air to cradle him against her chest as she runs. The cops run after her, too, but she’s faster and so she gets away.

It’s fucked up. She might’ve stood there in the street, blocking traffic and giving off the loudest _fuck you_ Dean’s ever heard without saying a word, but she was still a kid. Her eyes were wide and panicked on the tape, when Dean had seen grown-ass men scream in her face and her respond with nothing but a jut of her chin. 

That’s nothing compared to the next segment, though. A sneering, red-headed dude on campus security pushes along a bunch of protesting college kids, trying to clear them out of the way. His Hawlucha pushes them along too, though she doesn’t look happy about it. The guy doesn’t look much older than the protesters. Edlund has an increased need for security; they’re probably recruiting college kids.

“I know him,” Cas says, voice wary. “The redhead cop. His name is Thaddeus. He trains with Naomi, too.”

One of the students breaks out from the line. It’s the girl with the Rampardos, the one who grabbed Dean and whirled him around. She screams something in Thaddeus’ direction, though the news cut the volume out. Whether that’s because of a crappy recording or on purpose, Dean’s not sure. The camera’s pretty shaky, after all. But he’s not puttin’ money on it being an accident either.

The recording gets even worse from that point on, but Dean can tell that Rampardos is fighting Hawlucha. Hawlucha is much more agile, and she’s able to dodge most of the attacks, but she can’t compare in terms of sheer power. 

Then the girl says _Fuck this_ , obvious even on the wobbly recording and cut volume, and walks over and punches Thaddeus right in the face.

Eerily silent chaos erupts on the screen.

The newscaster looks out at the audience pleadingly from a small square, inserted into the footage of the brawl. “If you have any information about Claire Novak or Tracy Bell, please call us here at –” Dean tunes out the number, and looks away from the TV screen so he doesn’t have to see the pictures the news station put up of Claire and Tracy, where the two of them are smiling beatifically. That ain’t them.

Cas hasn’t said anything at all since he recognized Thaddeus. He’s quiet. Too damn quiet. 

“Maybe you should listen to Gabriel and ask Naomi –”

“Gabriel. I should listen to Gabriel. My wayward sister who completely disappeared and led me to think she was _dead_ for the better part of a decade.” 

“Because she was trying to help you!” Dean didn’t realize he was practically shouting until Cas’ brows furrow. “Alright, so she had crappy methods. I’m not arguing that. But you gotta see how fucked this whole thing is.”

The TV screen shows the fight again. Tracy smacks Thaddeus right in the face with the back of her hand, and he wrenches away, a surprising amount of blood gushing from his nose. Hawlucha immediately abandons her fight with Rampardos to check on her trainer. Cas watches it all, and gnaws on his lip a little.

“You gotta care,” Dean says. “I know you do.” 

Cas snorts a little, softly. Wounded, almost. “Caring. That’s for you, Dean. You care so much, it wrenches you apart. Vaporeon, the Pokemon in the nursery, your family, me. Though I don’t deserve it. Listen to me now –”

“Oh, Cas, cut the crap,” Dean interrupts, but gently. “You’re not giving yourself enough credit. You care for everybody. It’s why I _like_ you so much. I’ve seen the way the Flying-types react when you get into the aviary at work. You wanted to make sure Claire was alright the first time we saw her, and I bet you’re trying to come up with some way to make sure she and that Tracy girl are okay now. Hell, you _told me_ you care about your entire family, even the people in it you _hate_. Don’t tell me caring is only for me.” 

He moves his hand over Castiel’s. Cas doesn’t move it, at least. 

“I haven’t met Thaddeus many times, but he is… rather obnoxious,” he says, when he finally speaks. Well, Dean could have told him that just from _looking_ at the guy. “He’s still something like my brother. Tracy, too. I don’t know her, but she deserves none of this. And Claire. I see a scene like this –” Cas gestures at all of it, the red dribbling from Thaddeus’ nose and Tracy’s heels flailing – “and I just want it to end. There are people hurting, Dean, and I just want it to _stop_.”

“Caring so much it hurts,” Dean responds, quietly.

“ _Sucks_ ,” Cas sighs.

Cas is a hard-ass, Cas is reckless and blunt, Cas has a weird sense of humor and weirder dress skills, and Cas rarely bothers with social niceties. But in the end, he’s _kind_. He wants to help; Dean’s always wanted to do that, too. 

Cas has a new fierceness in his eyes now, though. “We’ll talk to Gabriel tomorrow.” Dean just nods, and kisses him. 

He closes his eyes as they slip deeper into the kiss, and lets the images on the television screen disappear.

*

“You sure you’re alright?” Cas is so _fussy_ over Dean’s injury, and normally he pretends he’s all huffy over the attention. Right now, though, he’s not going to shrug off Cas’ hand from his shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Dean says. It’s true, at least. He’s not walking with a limp or anything. Like Anna said, a miracle. And they’re on their way to get some damn answers about it. “Just gotta stand there and be pretty for backup anyway, right?”

“You’re very important, Dean.” Cas is definitely humoring him, but there’s also just enough of that damn earnestness in his words.

Gabriel scoffs. “Romance is disgusting. I’m gonna get outta this place again just so I don’t have to be around you two. Kidding, kidding!” she all but shouts after Anna gives her a wicked glare.

When they get to the gym, the guard – not Flagstaff, though his Pokemon is also a Garchomp, but a a big guy with shellacked hair and a serious resting bitchface – waves them in no questions asked. They should probably talk strategy, but once they get inside the training center, Gabriel takes some big strides forward, as big as she can get with her tiny frame, and offers up an eruption of a grin. “Heya, _Mom_!” she spits out. 

Dean’s learning Gabriel lives off her flare for the dramatic.

Naomi doesn’t react much. Dean figured it would either be that, or her coming completely unhinged, and he’s not sure which possibility is scarier. “I suspected I might see you again,” she says, leaving the desk to stand in front of Gabriel. She reaches out her arms.

Dean’s seen some strange shit. His dad talked to Ghost-type trainers most people stayed far, far away from, and then after he’d sprinkle herbs in a wide circle and murmur something in a language Dean didn’t know, Dean didn’t _want_ to know. He was there when his dad got even more desperate and went to the Dark-type or Psychic-type mediums; they’d fill the rooms with swirling heliotrope maelstroms that still solved not a goddamn issue out there, but left Dean with a queasy churning in his stomach for days afterward. Hell, Dean himself got saved by Cas twice, in a flash of blue light neither of them understands.

Seeing Naomi offer out a hug has to be the strangest shit of all.

Gabriel just ignores her, though. “Touching reunion,” she says. “Wish I could round up the rest of the gang. Who else is out there? Michael and Raphael, of course. Hannah. Uriel. Saw you had Virgil standing guard out there. Flagstaff? Hester? I heard Balthazar and Gadreel got outta dodge, too, good for them. Hell, maybe we’ll even get Zachy for old time’s sake. Maybe one of them knows just what you were doing.” 

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to,” Naomi responds, diamond-sharp. Diamond-cold. 

“This is serious,” says Cas. Dean tries not to react, but he could fistpump over Cas’ reaction. “I don’t know what’s going on, but whatever is going on could be putting us in danger. I remember using a blue light, incredible powers, to save Dean. To save myself from some bad people, more than once. Same with Anna. I’m here because I thought you _cared_ about us.”

“Didn’t know you had it in you, bro,” Gabriel says, all cheer.

Naomi doesn’t even move in her chair. She merely folds her hands in her lap. It’s creepy. “There isn’t an easy way to say this,” she says. “So I’ll just start by saying I’m little better than Zachariah. He was just cruel, but he didn’t _know_. I did.”

“What did you know?” It’s Castiel’s turn to ask the question. His voice has no waver in it; it’s all force. 

“Certain legendary Pokemon can and do take a human form. You and your sister, you are – well, you’re you. But you also happen to be Latios and Latias.”

The silence stretches for several minutes, until Gabriel ruptures it with a way too loud peal of laughter. “Great joke,” she says. “Didn’t know you had much of a sense of humor.” 

“It’s not a joke.” 

The freaky blue light that rose from nowhere and blinked Alastair’s henchmen off the map. The way the same light saved him from an explosion that leveled a damn building and left him with hardly a scratch. The other stories Cas remembered now, where he blasted petty thieves about to turn violent and saved a couple of huddling lumps from Azazel.

_Blue_ light.

Oh, shit.

“You’re not kidding, are you,” says Cas, voice even raspier than usual. Dean wonders if it would be too dramatic to wander over and hold his hand. Fuck, he probably can’t even have that now. Any moment, Cas’ body will probably stretch and mutilate into something Dean doesn’t know, hasn’t touched. And then he’ll fly off, gone forever. 

Dean knew it was too good, too damn good, to be true and real and _it_ , but he let himself fall anyway. He thinks of all the poor idiots who get lost to this world every year looking for legendary Pokemon, and in the end, he wasn’t any better. 

Naomi continues, sitting porcelain behind her desk, dredging up things with barbs from the past. “Castiel. Think about it. Do you have any recollection of your parents at all?” “Fine, you were the younger sibling. Does Anna?”

Anna’s only reaction is one firm shake of the head, swift like the claws of a Kingler snapping together. She’s been too damn quiet. 

“It’s because you don’t _have_ parents,” Naomi continues. “Not biological ones. I erased your memories. Gothitelle and I.” Gothitelle continues to levitate a few inches above the ground, silently. Unblinking. “I made sure you were in a place where I could keep an eye on you.”

“Where you could _groom_ us,” Anna says, and Dean notices a couple of other people around him jolting at the force of her words. Everything in her body language is wound scary fucking tight. 

“I –”

Naomi doesn’t get a chance to finish her thought. “ _I_ thought I could trust you,” Anna continues. “It was you, my _decent_ siblings like Cas and Hannah and Uriel, and no one else. And now you’re telling me my whole damn life was a lie? That it was only for _your_ purposes? I’ve dealt with enough shit to deal with that too.”

Anna walks out the door, brisk and purposeful. She covers the ground from Naomi’s desk to the door quickly enough that Dean wonders if she’s borrowing her Latias powers for a boost.

_Latias_ , God. Dean’s sold sculptures of the two of them, paired in a set. But she’s here, she’s real, in the feathery flesh. And so is her brother.

Dean turns around to look at Cas. He can’t read the expression on his face. Even Gabriel’s giving him a curious glance.

“I think I need some time,” Cas says, finally.

“What?” Dean asks, even though he knows what he heard.

“I need time.” Cas’ eyes are blue, so blue. How could Dean not have known? “I talked to Gabriel. I talked to Naomi. The only answers I got made everything much more confusing. I don’t mean to be dramatic, Dean, but imagine your entire life, the parts that you thought mattered, turning out to be a lie. How would _you_ feel?”

“Terrible,” Dean responds, truthfully. His mind whirrs with things to say, but nothing else comes out. 

“And it is.” Cas’ voice isn’t cruel. It’s sad. That’s worse.

He walks back to the entrance of Naomi’s training center. Every step feels like a punch battering Dean’s stomach. Cas throws the door open and disappears into the glare of light. 

“Well, shit.” Gabriel sums it up pretty damn well.

Dean bolts out the door not long after that. He knows it’s pointless, but he has to try. Nothing’s out there, only a bunch of rich snobs idly petting Persians or rolling Carracostas down the street. The soft lights ringing the street blink on and off again, peaceful. 

World’s gone to shreds, to _shit_ , and the whole damn place is oblivious.


	6. Chapter 6

It’s been a week, or two. Maybe three. Feels like he’s in suspended animation, one sucky lonely night after another. Dean wakes up alone, punches the pillow, and rolls over to try and go to bed again. It doesn’t work too well. 

Cas was warm. His body was all angles, ones you could measure out with your hands. Dean felt his hips, his knees, his collarbone, his stomach. All those stupid little touches. Now, he feels like he was saving them up, in case something ever happened to the two of them. But when he thinks about those touches, skin to skin, skin to stubble, skin to the looser smoother skin of the lips, it only makes him miss Cas more. 

He really friggin’ hates this.

There’s a knock on his door after one particularly bad night. Dean feels the bottom drop out of his stomach when he all but throws open the door, because he can’t stop believing Cas will come back. He just can’t, like his longing alone could drag Cas back into his orbit. But it’s Uriel who’s glowering at him on the other side of the door. 

“What happened to my brother and sister,” Uriel says. It’s not much of a question. Cas and him have that in common, that odd way of asking questions without sounding inquisitive. Dean refuses to think _had_. 

“I wish I knew.” The silence that stretches between them is one long, achy scream on its own. Skarmory’s wings sound so loud; Dean’s never noticed their metallic clicking before.

“You all were going to see Naomi. And then they were gone.”

Dean can only come up with, “It’s not my story to tell.” Uriel’s expression doesn’t shift. Dean’s unsure if that’s a good or bad thing. It’s that placidity, though, that makes him push on. “New piece on the chessboard, though. Might want to talk to, uh, Gabriel.” 

That at least gets him an eyebrow raised way the hell up. Good. 

“I didn’t like you at first,” Uriel says. Well, this family always was blunt. “But somehow I came – to trust you.” 

“’Preciate it,” Dean says, because he’s got no idea what the hell else to say in this situation.

“Don’t make me think my trust was misplaced.” It’s a strange feeling to have your own door closed in your face, but Dean can now say it’s happened to him.

He doesn’t get to sleep that night until the sun’s washing the sky pink. In his fitful dreams, he chases stars that wink blue and red and stay frustratingly out of reach. “Bein’ too literal,” Dean grumbles when he wakes up, tapping a finger to his temple. Poor Vaporeon’s been reduced to little more than incredibly concerned looks and cuddles up against his side. She’s doing a damn good job, the best she can. 

The most comforting actual human, though, is Charlie. Dean’s seriously amazed she hasn’t bolted from their friendship by now. They lost their jobs, and they’re not co-workers any more; there’s no reason for her to stick around. But she does anyway. She keeps calling him, programming that “Call Your Girlfriend” song into his phone as her ringtone. He’s told her how damn weird it is that a lesbian’s using that particular song for the phone of a dude who’s pining terribly after a dude, but she just hummed at him and dialed his number again so the tune would go off one more time. 

Dean smiled at that. It’s something.

She takes him out for coffee. Over her frothy, sugar-crusted latte and Dean’s black Unovan brew, she asks him, flat-out, if Cas broke up with him.

“I don’t know,” Dean said, and if he sounded miserable, well, the shoe fit.

Charlie hasn’t even touched her black and white cookie, which is how Dean knows it’s serious. “Have you talked to him?” At this point, Dean’s talked to Charlie about damn near everything. They’ve talked about _vibrators_ , for fuck’s sake. Now, though, Dean’s mostly remembering the long talks about missing their parents. Charlie’s a ton of fun, but she’s also his best friend, with everything that entails. 

He doesn’t know how to breach this topic, though, so he ducks his head and swirls his coffee around in his cup. If Charlie calls him out on the obvious nervous tic, he’s gonna steal that cookie. Might do it anyway. He’ll get the sympathy, and Vulpix is suspiciously eyeing it too. “I’m trying.” 

There’s another knock on the door a few days later. Dean doesn’t even want to answer it, unless it’s Cas there with an explanation and apology. It’s probably Uriel again, there to give Dean a piece of his mind. He wouldn’t even be wrong.

Instead, when he opens the door, Dean has to look down a good bit. Because it’s Gabriel.

“Whoo, boy, I could _smell_ the manpain from the hallway,” she says, cheery as ever, patting his chest with the hand that’s not clutching Whimsicott to her side. Dean must stiffen up, because she rolls her eyes enormously and tells him, “Chill out, I’m _gay_. Plus, I don’t think Cas would exactly appreciate it. He’d just be all broody about it, though. You ever see Anna when she’s mad? _That’s_ the scary member of the family, Naomis excepted.”

Despite Gabriel’s lack of height, she uses her shoulders to nudge Dean over and waltz her way into his apartment. Dean finds himself goggling over her, and how the hell anyone can be this damn cavalier tossing out Cas and Anna’s names in this particular situation. 

“What are you doing here?” is all Dean can ask as she friggin’ _digs her way through his refrigerator_. Vaporeon darts around the kitchen in alarm. 

Gabriel pauses in her rummaging to look up at him. “Been what? Two weeks? I figured you could use some companionship. Who’s better company than me?”

Everybody short of Zachariah, Dean thinks, but doesn’t say it because he doesn’t have a death wish. 

“Look, so you guys are having a tiff,” Gabriel continues, back in the fridge now. She’s got a big head of lettuce under one arm, and Whimsicott under the other. It’s hard to tell them apart, and Dean’s tempted to laugh. That’s a new one, at least. “I’ve seen you two together, when he still graced our fair city with his presence. I’ve heard him talk about you. _God_ knows I have. Cas needs some time, but it’s gonna be okay.” 

Again, Dean’s got no idea how she can be so damn casual about it. “How can you say that?”

Gabriel’s finally done in his fridge, having located the loaf of bread and a jar of strawberry preserves. “Thought you’d be the sad six-pack and jar of salsa that expired three years ago type,” she says, a non-sequitur. “I’m impressed.” Once she sits down at the table and starts putting jam on her bread – though in her case it’s more like she’s making sure she gets some bread to go along with her jam – she continues. “Because shit happens, and you push on through it. Or you don’t, but the world moves on anyway.”

Coming from Gabriel, that’s surprisingly lucid. “What –”

“Like you don’t know all about that, Dean-o.” She shoots him a look, then stands up to search in the fridge again. While she’s there, she pulls out an enormous can of whipped cream, shakes it up with glee, and sprays it all over her bread and jam. Dean just gawks. “You want a bite?”

“God, no.”

“Suit yourself.” Gabriel practically stuffs the disgusting concoction in her mouth, chews very deliberately, then speaks up again. “So I know you’re being all mangsty right now, and it’s a good look on you and all, but it’s gonna be okay, kiddo. Cas and I, we’re not so different.”

Dean wants to laugh, but instead he just stares in something approaching horror. 

“Oh, I know what you’re thinking,” Gabriel says, once she’s torn into another big piece of the red, drippy bread. A big blob of whipped cream falls on her plate, and she cleans it up with her finger and licks that finger off. Charming. “It’s true, though. Poor sad orphans, spurned by our shitty adoptive father, found the only authority figure we thought we _could_ trust was shady as hell after all, and scrammed.” 

That makes Dean pause. She’s not wrong. Of course, Gabriel was gone for years –

“I know, I know, I was gone for years,” Gabriel interrupts Dean’s internal monologue. The fact that the two of them ever shared a thought at any point is a bit disturbing. “But that’s where we differ. My brother – well, a big part of his life has been figuring out who he should be loyal _to_ , but I think he’s figured it out by now. Just needs a little alone time. Our coping mechanisms suck.”

Gabriel finishes her bizarre sandwich, and attempts to put her feet up on the chair next to her. She’s short as hell, though, so her legs don’t reach the other chair, and her feet end up waving back and forth in the space between chairs. She’s the most absurd person Dean’s ever met.

“Why are you like this?” Dean asks, watching her flounder in an attempt to drag over the other chair with her foot. Whimiscott jumps onto her lap, not making it any easier.

To Dean’s surprise, she takes his question seriously. “I _love_ my family,” she says, looking down at Whimsicott and mussing his fuzzy cotton mane. “But then there was all the shit we went through. The shit they put me through. The shit _I_ put _them_ through, I’m not innocent either. It was either take it all too seriously and go nuts, or take nothing seriously at all and get the fuck away before it could all _completely_ fall apart.” There’s a smile on her face when she looks up, but it’s weighed down by the sadness in her eyes. “You think I didn’t lose people too? By leaving, and then by coming back here. Michael, Raphael, they’re probably never going to talk to me again, and it _sucks_. The people I knew while I was in hiding –” She shakes her head, and dammit if she doesn’t look legitimately upset. “Why dwell on it though, right? You get it.”

Dean wonders if he’s in the former group, the type who _took it all too seriously and went nuts_. Probably. “Yeah,” is all he says, though, oddly touched by Gabriel’s display. 

She bounces to her feet after that, like her little speech was equally as casual as all the other shit she says. “Thaaat’s enough chick flick moments for the week,” she sighs, and pats Dean’s cheek. Her fingers are still sticky with jam. “I’m sure I’ll be back soon to witness the horrifically adorable display that is you and my brother. Thanks for lunch!” 

“You’re welcome,” Dean finds himself saying, ridiculously.

She’s halfway out the door when she turns back and points at him. She’s gotta be close to a foot shorter than he is, but he still feels nothing but sheer terror at her brandished finger. “If you wanna talk to my brother,” Gabriel tells him, “just _talk_ to him. He’s still Castiel. Latios is part of who he is now. A big part. But he lived thirty-some-odd years not knowing shit about that.”

That makes a weird amount of sense. 

So of course Gabriel follows it up with a cheerful, “And if you break his heart, I’ll crack your skull open and Whimsicott will feast on your brains!” And then she’s out the door, leaving Dean feeling like a Hurricane attack just sliced through his apartment. The silence is its own punctuation.

Dean waits, maybe an hour or two. And then, spurred on by Uriel, Charlie, and Gabriel for very different reasons, and by his own damn obstinacy, he goes back to the kitchen and he starts to pray.

To say Dean ain’t the praying type is an understatement. Faith got you nothing but disappointment. In Sinnoh, there were a few groups who worshipped Arceus as a literal god, and there had been rumblings a few years back of some kooks in Hoenn that got broken up for trying to summon Kyogre and Groudon. 

But there wasn’t much of that here in Unova. Reshiram and Zekrom kept the universe balanced, and the Swords of Justice protected them, but they did it from a distance. The only person out there praying to any legendary Pokemon was Dean himself, apparently.

“Cas,” Dean dares to say, at last. The night is quiet; there are no cars whizzing by outside, and only the occasional trill of a Hoothoot. “You out there, buddy?”

The night remains quiet. This is friggin’ awkward.

“It’s, uh. Been a sucky couple of weeks. Spent a lot of it trying to get in touch with Rufus and Bobby, but I’m gettin’ nothing. Contact lines are fucked up enough from region to region, but I hope it’s not gonna spread to the cities.” He thinks about Tracy on the news, Claire on the news, and the fight between him and Cas that seems so stupid and inconsequential now. “Jody’s called me a couple of times actin’ like nothing was up. Think she’s trying to keep morale up, you know she’s such a _mom_.” He can’t help but smile at that, though the smile fades when he continues. “But I think we know something’s going on here. Somethin’ – real fucked up.” 

Vaporeon lifts her head from her bed in the room. “Breee?” she asks, voice slurred. 

“Not you, Vaporeon,” Dean tells her. “Uh, Vaporeon says hi, too. I’m not the only one who misses you. But I do, you know. A lot.” 

The room is still quiet. The only sign of life is Vaporeon’s rustling and the soft lights switching from blue to gold and back again outside.

Dean thinks about all the times they were together in this room, him cooking for Cas or the two of them tearing into take-out. Vaporeon and Staraptor either stayed in the kitchen with them, annoying them until they got their food, or chased each other around the living room. For the first time since Village Bridge, Dean felt like he had a family. And he’s tired of watching his family disappear.

“I ever tell you about my dad’s funeral?” He runs a hand down his face. “Almost everyone that showed up, I hadn’t seen in years. All of ‘em kept looking at me with so much goddamn _pity_ , when they weren’t glaring at my tattoos. I hated it.

“Then, uh, Sam came too. He’d been at Carver for a while then. Didn’t get along with Dad at the best of times. I wasn’t expecting him. We got into this stupid fight, he called me brainwashed, I told ‘im he was never loyal, and he stormed out. We found Vaporeon and his Espeon playing together, and in that moment the fight seemed so _stupid_. But he still left. That was the last time I talked to him.

“Dad was gone, Sam was gone. I had Vaporeon, always have Vaporeon, but it was the loneliest I ever felt. I _hated_ it. I pushed that feeling down, and I did a good job with it, but Cas – I don’t ever wanna feel like that again.”

He stands up, and starts pacing the length of the kitchen. None of this is coming naturally to him, and he’s gotta keep himself distracted so he doesn’t lose his nerve. “Think I’m realizing, though,” he says, Vaporeon at his heels, confused but trailing anyway, “it’s not about need. It’s about who I _want_ to have with me. It’s real messed up out there, Cas. You know it, too. I could take Vaporeon and we’d go kick some ass. But I want you and Staraptor here too, fightin’ – whatever the hell this is. I want you here with me. We’ll figure it out from there.” Vaporeon chirrups in approval.

There’s only silence after that.

It shatters Dean. A typhoon rages up inside him, all sound and fury, but all he can do is settle down at the table. He poured it all out there, for nothing. Gabriel was wrong. _He_ was wrong, to have faith in anyone. In Cas. He buries his head in his hands, willing tears not to fall and letting the pathetic slop of his mood drip a sludgy path through him.

Until there’s a nudge against his hand. From a beak.

Dean looks up with a start, his heart thudding so hard it makes his entire mouth taste like copper. Staraptor’s poking at his hand, gingerly. But as much as he loves her, that’s not what catches Dean’s attention as much as the man standing in front of the table. 

“Hello, Dean,” he says. It’s simple. It’s the whole damn world. 

Cas looks exactly like the normal guy he isn’t in a gray t-shirt and jeans and that stupid baggy overcoat he loves and Dean loves pushing off him. “With you,” he says, with no further preamble, “I’m learning need and want are often two sides of the same coin.”

In the end, Dean thinks, faith got him something after all. Cas, here, rumpled and weary and back again. 

“We can work with that,” Dean tells him, rising from his chair to embrace Cas. Dean clutches Cas’ impossible warmth to him, his solid form. His presence. Cas’ arms around him are tight and firm.

Seems more like a mutual grapple than a hug. Dean welcomes it.

“Is sorry enough,” Cas says into Dean’s neck. 

The funny feeling in Dean’s stomach swoops down, and right back up again. He’s got the mental image of Latios doing the same thing, only its body is built for optimal flight and Dean’s guts are a twisted, nervous mess. “Not really,” Dean says, honestly. “But it’s what we got.” 

Anger still ebbs at him, a fresh wave of hurt in every movement of it. But those waves can start to recede and leave new, clear land before them. 

“The world was so small,” Cas says to him, as they rock each other back and forth. Vaporeon and Staraptor are already batting the other with wing and paw, ignoring their completely ridiculous trainers. They always were the brains of this operation. 

Dean lets out a short laugh. “All of Unova, more than that maybe, it was small?” He’s traipsed his way across the continent. Small ain’t the word for it.

Cas pulls back from the embrace, but just a fraction, so he can stay wrapped up in Dean’s arms but look at his face at the same time. “The world was small when you weren’t in it with me,” he amends, his gaze as unblinking and serious as ever. Dean feels his cheeks heat up. 

He still feels like there’s a nasty gash torn open on his side. But there’s no one whose hands he wants tending the wound other than Cas.

They’re sitting down at the kitchen table, Cas with his hands curled around a cup of coffee that he repeatedly wafted toward his nose with a flat-out blissful look on his face, when he tells Dean, “I’ve been wrong to avoid you.” So the guy doesn’t beat around the bush much. “Taking off like that, it was wrong, and if Anna was here she’d apologize too. She’s not one for apologies, either, but an apology is what’s right. What Naomi said was a shock.”

Dean struggles to come up with something appropriate and sensitive, but what he ends up saying is, “No shit.”

Cas at least smiles at that. “Now that I’ve thought about it,” he says, “her behavior bothered me more than any secrets she was hiding about me. I’m still _angry_ , but I have an explanation now. I always felt strange, Dean. Different. At least there’s a reason for it.”

“The way you grew up,” Dean says, swiftly grabbing the pot of coffee once Cas downs the last dredges of it in his cup, “it’d make anyone –”

“I was still different from them. Anna, Uriel, Hannah, they all managed to do good in the world. But now I’ve got memories – not just you, Dean, though you’ll always be – the most special to me, I think.” He reaches across the table to take Dean’s hand in his own. Their callouses brush against each other, a roughness that nevertheless makes Dean shiver. “I was helping people. My powers, they blew up one of Alastair’s safe houses. Naomi would have never found half those _assholes_ that she did without the help of me and my sister.”

“That’s incredible.”

“I think so.” Cas takes a big swallow of his coffee. “Different isn’t _bad_ to me. It’s what I am.”

Cas hasn’t changed at all, then. It’s good to hear.

“I owe you an apology, Dean. I was no better than Naomi –”

“Don’t beat yourself up like _that_ ,” Dean insists. Cas messed up, sure. Dean didn’t try and contact him for weeks, and when his brother dropped out of his life he didn’t try to get in touch with him for too long, either. They’ve all got shit to apologize for. Naomi’s got a mountain of it.

Cas doesn’t react much outwardly, but Dean knows his tells by now, even after time away; his hands tighten around his mug, which is still mostly full with treacherously hot coffee. “She did what she did to _protect_ me. I did what I did to _protect_ you. The idea of her, or Zachariah, or anyone else who could find out, using my family, friends, or _you_ to get to me… Gabriel means well, I suppose, but imagine if she didn’t –”

“Cas, look.” Dean hates to cut him off, but he’s said something very much like this to his own goddamn self too many times. When it came to love, he got the fuck away from anyone before they could leave him; he shoved himself through all that pain, the messy goodbyes and the long quiet nights afterward, so he didn’t have it pushed on him when he wasn’t expecting it. 

His feelings for people like Cassie and Lisa and Aaron are gone now, other than tiny flares of regret if he thinks about it for too long. But the feelings are gone because they never had time to take root.

But then Dean remembers the first time he slept with Cas and the careful skim of his fingers. His mind plays over every searing kiss, but also Cas cradling the back of his neck, his skull, like he’s something precious. Like he’s amounted to more than a locker full of junk from his old man, and a brother and Pokemon that turned out alright through no effort of his own. And hell, maybe he grew up a bit. Maybe he can have this. The very least he owes himself is to try.

He’ll tell Cas all of this some day, when he can work up the nerve. “I get it,” is all he says for now. Cas might be strange, but he’s Dean’s kind of strange. “Shit’s tough. It’s _going_ to be tough. If anyone can get through it, though, it’s us. No one I’d rather have with me on anythin’ in the world.” He lets a smile, a real one, pass across his face. “Worst comes to worst, at least you’re a shoo-in to win the costume contest when Charlie invites us back to one of her LARP parties.”

Cas laughs. After everything, he really really laughs. Even Staraptor’s looking at Dean with something like fondness lifting her brow. 

It’s going to be worth it. It _is_ worth it.

*

They don’t do anything for the rest of the night other than watch the television with Vaporeon at their feet on the sofa. The stories about the arrests have stopped. There’s nothing but obnoxiously perky newscasters reporting on some upcoming Pokemon competitions. 

Dean wouldn’t say he’s _relaxed_ , because his entire life has been one big warning against any kind of relaxation. But he’s sure gonna enjoy this small moment of respite, the two of them tangled tight together while sleep tugs at his eyelids.

“I get what you were sayin’, before,” Dean says, voice tired. “About feeling different. I get it. Not the same, but Sammy ‘n I were always the freak kids at school. Clothes worn out, staying in motels. Not the way to make friends.” 

The sofa isn’t really big enough for the two of them to be laying side-by-side like this, but they’re doing it anyway. Dean imagines the way they’d look from Staraptor’s point of view abovehead, two long bulky lines pressing insistently into each other’s space. Chaos and calm, meeting over the late night news. “It’s still hard to find friends. But you, Charlie, my siblings… it’s good to be close to people.”

“Good to find people you can be freaky with, right,” Dean says, voice soft.

Normally, Cas is the one who reaches his hand up to touch Dean’s face. He’ll trace his cheekbones, his eyelids, the myriad of scars Dean’s picked up across the years. This time, Dean finds himself tracing Cas’ familiar features. He rememorizes them, the thick lips, the long fringe of eyelashes, the deep swoops under his eyes that he finds so endearing. 

Cas’ eyes flutter shut, and he leans in. It cracks Dean’s heart in two, to see the tender expression on his face. It mends that heart back together again. He hopes Cas gets half as much out of touching him that he does touching Cas, but that seems like an impossible task. “It is. You are not joking.”

“I get how feeling like a freak can wear on you. I hope you meet Sammy one day, you two’d get along.” Dean swallows; he’s not sure how much he should divulge from Sam, but he pushes on anyway. “People were always a bit… freaked by him, and it wasn’t fair. He just wanted to be normal, but he ended up with Espeon. He loves her, I know that, but the day she evolved he came home crying. Somethin’ about how he was always destined to be the freak.”

Dean knows it could have been worse, too. When he saw Sam’s Eevee start to glow with the energy that meant evolution, Dean flicked his eyes up to look at the sun overhead and gulped in relief. Even before Eevee’s glow took on Espeon’s distinct wisteria hue, Dean knew it was daytime, and no nighttime Eevee evolution meant no Umbreon.

Of course, Umbreon are good, loyal, tough as hell Pokemon, and Sam knows it too. But the Winchesters were already freaks; Dean just didn’t want Sam to be the freak kid with the Dark type to boot.

One of those frowns Cas gets when he’s reminded of how deeply unfair the world can be spreads out over his face. “There is nothing wrong or _freaky_ about Espeon. They’re extremely powerful Pokemon.” 

“I know, and Sam knows that too now. Back then, though, the kids gave him shit over, you know. They didn’t like the look in Espeon’s eye. Freaky Psychic gaze and all that.”

Cas nods. “I can relate.” 

Despite himself, Dean chuckles at that. “Sam just wanted to blend in, and everyone at his school was talking about how the only kid with a Pokemon in their class was using it to read their minds. Kids.” 

“They are wonderful and awful,” Cas agrees, and Dean could swear his heart skips a beat at the fondness in his tone. 

“What were you – when you were gone. What were you doing, exactly?” Dean finally gathers up the courage to ask, a couple of minutes of silence later. They’re leaning into each other; it’s so comfortable. It’s so easy. “Not like you were hanging out in town.”

Dean can practically feel Cas’ cheeks coloring. “Flying, mostly.”

“Here in Unova?” Dean wipes away some of the sleepiness from his eyes and sits up on the sofa. “Cas, you gotta be careful. You were the one saying you didn’t want Zack or anyone else to catch you.”

“Mostly over at the Desert Resort,” Cas counters. It makes Dean feel better, but not by much. Despite the fact that the place is named Desert _Resort_ , it’s not a place anyone would go to on vacation. It’s a freaking desert with a constant sandstorm. Most Pokemon can’t handle it for very long, either, save the Rock, Ground, and Steel-types with built-in resistances. Dean hasn’t even seen many pictures, because the sand wreaks absolute havoc on any and all photography equipment. What he has seen is gorgeous, sure, but it’s nothing but billowing sand and a sky right outta Cas’ baby blues. “The sand – well, it sucked, frankly.” 

Dean laughs at that. God, he missed Cas so badly. “How was the flying, though?”

Cas looks right at him, the same gaze that tethers them together. The lights from the television are playing on in his eyes. “Amazing.” 

Dean resolves, then and there, that he’s gonna get the hell over the stupid fear of flying he has. Those rattling jet engines on Mistralton planes are decades old and hundreds of miles away. He’s gonna go flying with Cas. And it’s going to be great.

They sleep in the same bed that night, though they’re too tired to do anything else. Dean tucks Cas into his arms; Cas just makes a pleased noise in response and snuggles his back to Dean’s chest. He puts a streak of warmth up Dean’s front, one that stretches from his throat to his knees. 

Dean thought maybe these quiet moments would be different now, with the knowledge that Cas is something strange, something other. But they remain the same. Cas still smells like his weird woodsy soap, and he’s still got that little whorl of hair growing in by his ears. Dean could never touch him again, and it’d be a screaming hurt, but if they got to lie close to each other and Dean could see his face with the lights playing against it and they could talk just like this, it’d be alright. 

“I wanna go flying,” Dean whispers right into his ear. He feels the shiver in Cas’ body, and truth be told he’s already got a stir in his groin thanks to Cas’ stupid soap, but they’ll get to that when they get to it. “With you.” 

When they wake up, some time around one in the afternoon, they head over to Cas’ place. Cas makes Dean sandwiches, which Dean finds incredibly endearing considering Cas’ complete lack of skills involving anything kitchen-related.

“Thought you might burn the place down with these,” Dean says, holding up his plate. This is the military-style bedmaking of sandwiches. Cas probably studied.

“Just don’t ask for grilled cheese,” Cas responds, smiling.

They eat in comfortable silence for a bit, until Cas speaks up again. “You may have been wondering who I was talking to on the phone,” he says, his voice sheepish. He’d been tapping away on his phone’s keyboard the entire bus ride over.

“Figured you got lots of people to get back in touch with.”

“Yes, but – it was Gabriel. We have something like an uneasy peace now.”

Dean laughs out loud at that. “While you were gone, she showed up at my apartment to spill her guts. Oh, and threaten me with bodily harm if I hurt you. Think the exact wording was that she would crack open my skull and Whimsicott would feast on my brains.”

Cas sighs deeply, but there’s affection in his voice when he says, “She always did have a way with words. The peace is more uneasy on my side, I think. Look at my missed calls.” He slides his phone across the table to Dean. Gabriel’s name is listed over and over, at all goddamn hours of the morning.

It’s stupid, but Dean feels a pang of jealousy. There’s no Sam for Dean to just up and call. 

“It wasn’t entirely useless chatter,” Cas says, that same fondness in her voice. “She managed to tell me she got to the wreckage of Marv’s hideout. Only her. Also told me not to ask how she got there.”

“I wasn’t gonna.”

“Gabriel told me it involved _computer shit_. I – may have mentioned we know someone who can help her out with that.”

Dean’s torn between loudly laughing, and letting his head fall to the table and never picking it up. “Why the hell not, right,” he says, with a sideways grin to Cas. “Call in the big gun.”

The “big gun” is, of course, a sunny redhead tailed by a Vulpix. “Charlie Bradbury-Peri at your service,” she announces, walking in and dumping her bag down with a heavy thud. Vulpix gallops right toward Cas, taking a running leap into his lap. “Hacker extraordinaire. Here for the _computer shit_. Cas, babe, you owe me like fifteen hugs, and _one hell of an explanation_.”

Gabriel arrives not long after, then all but lifts Anna up in a hug when she arrives. “ _Now_ who’s the wayward sister,” she declares triumphantly as Whimsicott and Pidgeot chase each other around the perimeter of the room. “And darling Charlie,” she says, tossing a floppy disk in her direction.

“A floppy disk, _seriously_?!” Charlie exclaims, as she nevertheless effortlessly catches it in one hand. 

“And these guys are trying to conquer the planet,” Dean snorts. 

Charlie grumbles about having to haul in outside supplies, but she does have a floppy disk reader, and she starts tapping away at her keyboard not long after that. “Here we go,” Charlie says, after about ten minutes of work. Dean’s not sure what changed; the same lines of white and green text keep whirring down the screen. 

That’s when the screen goes completely white, a blinding white that Charlie squints against. It gets brighter and brighter, until she’s raising her hand up to shield her eyes.

And then something reaches out of the computer and _touches_ her hand. 

She screams and jumps back, but the glowing tendril follows her. It’s not quite like a vine, because it’s boxy, but its movements are slow and just as goddamn creepy as something crawling out of the computer screen would suggest. 

A sound, almost like hissing, rises up in the room. At least if a Purrloin starts hissing, Dean knows to run the fuck away. They’re all frozen in place here, while the sound keeps growing: _Sssss… Missssss…_

“Fuck.” From Charlie’s mouth, it sounds like more of a squeak. “Vulpix, Flamethrower, don’t _touch_ it –” 

Vulpix hops backward as best as he can. He has to go too many steps; he’s squished uncomfortably close to the door. The thing’s filling up the room with its screaming light. A stream of fire erupts from Vulpix’s mouth, but when it hits the – whatever the hell it is, it doesn’t even have a flank or side to hit or a solid shape – that fire all but evaporates.

“Sleep Powder!” Gabriel calls out. Whimsicott makes a damn acrobatic leap over the shifting glare, leaving a trail of powder in his wake, but the powder just dissolves right into its form with no effect at all. Halfway through his jump, Whimsicott hits some kind of invisible wall, and he spirals right into the morass of screeching white below. 

Distantly, Dean might hear a scream, and he thinks it might be Gabriel’s, but everything’s so blurry. Everything’s just fuzz.

He recognizes that his body is crawling toward the wall, desperate and helpless to do anything but curl closer and closer and closer to it, but it seems so distant. Dean wants to call on Vaporeon to do something, anything, but when he opens his mouth the only noise that comes out is the hissing sound, no change in pitch or sign of inflection. The noise, the light, it’s swallowing him. There’s going to be no room left soon, and they’ll be gone too, it’ll just be – whatever the hell this is –

But that’s when a blast of red light rips through the room, not the same searing light but enough to blast away the white. The hissing cuts off like someone took a goddamn axe to it. Everything is very real again, Dean’s head way too goddamn clear. His cheek is squished right against the carpet, and he’s pretty sure he’s drooling.

When Dean dares to look up, Anna’s standing stock-still in the middle of the room. Her arms are outstretched, and the red fades quick from her fingertips. Bolts of too-white electricity, mirroring the thing that almost ate up the room, race up and down her arms, but she smacks at them and they disappear. 

“I didn’t want to do that,” Anna says, quiet. “Is everyone alright?” The response is mostly groans, but at least they’re affirmative ones.

Dean flops over onto his back. “Alright, lemme be the one to ask.” He’s amazed that he’s able to get words out, let alone that his voice sounds normal. “What the hell _was_ that?”

Charlie remains by the computer. Vulpix is curled against her side, rubbing his nose against her t-shirt, but she’s so still. Her face is paler than usual, and Dean – well, to use a reference Charlie would probably appreciate, Dean’s got a bad feeling about this. 

“I decoded the disk,” she starts, “but at first I thought it was just nonsense, because all the disks had were numbers. Billions of numbers. The more advanced programs on here were just counting systems.” She pauses to bite the inside of her cheek for a moment. She’s slumping; Charlie _never_ slumps. “That’s when I realized that’s all they were. They were counting. Checking numbers. Looking for… the missing number.”

Charlie’s voice is drained of any hint of enthusiasm, which is terrifying coming from her. The faces around her, though, are more baffled than frightened. “What is that?” Cas finally asks.

“It’s – I just thought it was a rumor. The kind of talk a bunch of nerds do. A Pokemon that wasn’t supposed to exist, that’s just – an evolutionary glitch.” 

“The hell do you mean?” Dean knows he sounds a bit too hostile, especially with Charlie, but when you’ve got an Eevee evolution as your partner Pokemon, you hear way too much about Pokemon evolution and how it _should_ happen.

Charlie half-grimaces, more at her surroundings than at anything Dean said, and types away on the computer again. Thank God for Charlie, seriously. “This is what I’m talking about,” Charlie says, typing _M-I-S-S-I-N-G-N-O_ on the screen. Dean can barely even make out the photo that comes up; it’s nothing but a blur. Those might be long bones, like ones for wings, or they might just be a trick of the light. “An undocumented Pokemon with unnatural and notorious powers.”

“Like what?” Gabriel asks.

“Replication’s the good power. Well, sort of. Scientists theorize about Missingno’s replication abilities because they’ve dredged up capsized ships with hundreds of thousands of one item, all from areas where Missingno was rumored to be. They think Missingno caused those items to replicate exponentially and uncontrollably, until the ships sunk.”

“So uh, what’s the bad power, then?”

“Deletion,” Charlie says, a scary serious thread woven through her voice. “People and Pokemon have gone missing around the area where Missingno’s supposed to exist for as long as we’ve got records. Corruption, too.” 

“Corruption, meaning…” Cas has managed to sit up, but he’s still a bit shaky. 

“Meaning what we all just saw,” Charlie answers.

Dean gets it. Missingno made him feel like something was setting his mind alight even as it stuffed cotton balls in his ears and rocked him to sleep; there was a dangerous yawp in his brain, one that he was willing to give right into. “It’s very powerful. You saw what happened when everything short of a – legendary Pokemon –” Charlie grimaces as she looks at Anna, but Anna offers her a tiny smile and the moment passes – “attacks it. It’s probably guarding… whatever the hell is on here.”

“Plans, likely,” Charlie says. “They may be using floppy disks – seriously, what is _up_ with that – but they also had Missingno on their side.” 

When Charlie sounds grim, shit ain’t good.

*

“Dean,” Cas says, tugging at his shoulder. “Wake up.”

Dean cracks an eye open, and lets out a groan of Wailord proportions when he sees the red numbers on the clock reading _2:48_. He doesn’t have to work tomorrow, but that’s even more reason why he needs his friggin’ _sleep_. It’s only with Cas that he’s ever slept all that well, anyway. 

“You told me you wanted to see it.” Dean finds himself looking up into those startlingly blue eyes, and he knows he’s going to end up waking up and going along. “I don’t think I could do this in the daytime.” 

“Too risky, yeah.” Dean lets out a tremendous yawn, and slowly works his way out of bed. He brushes his teeth, because he’s meticulous about that anyway and Cas doesn’t deserve his awful morning breath, pulls a pair of jeans on, and heads out with Cas, Vaporeon, and Staraptor. 

They head past streets that would be hopelessly dark, were it not for the blinking blue and white lights along the way. Those streets give way to the cobblestone paths in the older section of town, which eventually bleed out to nothing but nature. Dean never knew it was this pretty right outside Opelucid, full of rolling hills and patches of trees with Spearows flitting about them. Rattata rush across their path, and soon Vaporeon’s chasing after them while Staraptor takes flight with the Spearows. 

It’s gorgeous to see. But these hills are hell on his legs, and he always hated hiking. “We almost there?” he asks.

“This is good,” Cas says, and Dean realizes they’re on one hell of a plateau overlooking the city of Opelucid. 

Dean hates heights more than he hates hiking, but from this high up and at this time, stuck between way too late at night and way too early in the morning, the city’s gorgeous. Both old and new buildings shine in the winking lights that line the streets. It’s like another night sky entirely, speckled with its own constellations against a dark canvas.

“Yeah,” he says, tearing his eyes away from Opelucid to look at Cas. “Good.” 

Dean’s never been great at timing, but this moment all but fell into his lap, so he spins Cas around and kisses him. He throws all of himself into the kiss, hands roving up Cas’ chest until they find his cheeks to cradle them. Those hands are only moved away when Cas grips them right back, desperately, while his tongue slicks silk-smooth over Dean’s.

If Dean opened his eyes right now, he’s sure he’d see those city lights blinking in front of them. He’s so glad they did this. Just them, the night, and their patiently-waiting Pokemon. 

“Ready?” Cas says, when they finally break apart. No lights, but Dean feels more than a little light-headed.

Dean isn’t sure, honestly. Cas’ bottom lip glints in the light of the night, wet from kissing, and Dean could go for another round before he could start flying. But mostly, it’s fucking terrifying. He’s accepted Cas for exactly what he is, but it’s one thing to _know_ about it and another thing entirely to see him _become_ a goddamn legendary Pokemon in front of his eyes.

But Dean still finds himself saying “Yeah.” Jumping into shit head-on is the only way he knows how to go about things.

Cas stands still for a couple of seconds, until – Dean knows it’s coming, but he still has to catch his breath, because there it is, the blue light. The blue light that ran through his dreams for years, the blue light that made it so he could stand here and marvel over it another day, the blue light that he immortalized on his shoulder, the blue light that _saved_ him. He knows his mouth’s agape, but this moment deserves it. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean can see that even Staraptor looks impressed. Damn straight.

The light flares up and out, and when it ebbs away, Dean’s looking at a very different form. The thing’s as big as a small plane, with stubby arms that look like they shouldn’t be able to hold his weight while perched on the ground. But there are enormous jagged and majestic wings, and even though the face is one Dean’s never seen before, he’d know the eyes anywhere. 

“Lookin’ good, Cas,” Dean breathes, moving his hand up to rest his palm against the side of Cas’ face. He’s got big hands, but they can barely cover half of Cas’ cheek now. Cas still leans into it, warm like always. His skin is a combination between feathers and fur, tingly against Dean’s hand, strange but soothing at once.

_Get on_. Cas’ voice resonates all around Dean, whispered by the trees and every blade of grass. He hears it in his own head, too, like a thought. It’s a weird-ass feeling, but a damn good one, to be so surrounded by Cas. 

“I wanna do this, but – you know I hate flying, right?” 

_I do, and my apologies in advance. I think this will be different. If you want to get off, you can get off._

“I mean, with you around, I always want that –”

_Dean_. To Cas’ credit, he sounds only a little pained at the obvious joke.

Bravado and stupid jokes can only put off the inevitable for so long, and he finds himself warming inside when Cas stoops over, best he can, so Dean can climb up onto his back. Cas is broad between the spurs of his wings, and Dean can get a tight grip around the base of his neck. “Staraptor, can you get Vaporeon?” he asks, and even though she offers him a glare sharp enough to make even Cas shift his bulk, she lets Vaporeon clamber into her claws. 

Cas’ wings start thrumming a couple of seconds later; Dean wasn’t expecting it just yet. He finds himself scrambling for a damn vicegrip around Cas’ neck. _Ouch_ , he says, more dry than pained.

“Sorry.”

_No need. You ready?_

“As I’ll ever be.” Cas’ wings start to beat, loud like Dean’s heartbeat thudding in his ears, and then he rises off the ground and up into the air. 

Dean hates heights and flying, he always has. At the best of times, he knows he’s no optimist, but when he got on those jets at Mistralton all he could picture were huge fiery wrecks careening to the ground 

But when Cas keeps rising through the air, a steady beat, Dean finds he doesn’t hate this. He’s not afraid. There are no fiery wrecks to be found. His breathing can even out, and as the knot of terror in his stomach loosens, he finds himself free to look out at the sight in front of him. 

They’re so far up now that not only Opelucid is in sight, but large portions of Unova too. A lot of Dean’s awful childhood stretches far beneath him. He can see the skinny stretch of Village Bridge, a long curve against the water. Somewhere out there is the house he still thinks of as home, even if it’s dark and definitely gone dusty by now. 

Right now, though, it’s just Dean and some of the people and Pokemon that he loves. They’re rewriting the book. It’s not perfect, because Dean physically feels the hollow where other people he loves are missing from his life, and the ones who are here can’t possibly write over what Dean’s already gone through. But when Dean looks out at the view, the lights of Opelucid and the smaller towns clustered around it beacons in the night, here is a good place to be.

Dean savors that thought.

“You seein’ this, Vaporeon,” he asks. He doesn’t take his eyes off the sight in front of him, but he hears a happy trill in response. Even Staraptor outright coos.

_It’s magnificent._ There’s a quiver in Cas’ voice, and Dean gives him the biggest squeeze he can. 

They drift on. They don’t go too far, because heading out in any direction could take them into view of one of the nearby cities, but they go on far enough to see the other cities and monuments peeking out from the hills outside Opelucid. 

“Victory Road,” Dean breathes, as its curves and intimidating craiggy caves come into view. “Always wanted to go there.” He’s never actually been, because even John couldn’t sneak them past the heavy security, but he’s seen pictures. Place is dangerous as hell, but it’s also breathtaking sienna steppes and a cornflower sky, so damn gorgeous it’d make _Bobby_ well up at the sight of it.

_Me too. Naomi –_ He pauses, and the mention of Naomi’s name making Cas pause even in this form breaks Dean’s damn heart. _Naomi said Staraptor likely wouldn’t pass any entrance tests to get there. Not out of cruelty, mind you. She was just blunt._

“ _Screw that_ ,” Dean snaps. Staraptor caws in agreement. “Staraptor’s amazing. She’s got an amazing trainer. We can handle it.” 

_We always do._

Dean feels warmth wash over him, despite the chill of the night and the altitude. “That’s the spirit.” 

Cas settles them back on the plateau before long. It’s a gentle landing; Dean exhales, then climbs off Cas’ back. He can’t help it, he leans over to kiss his cheek. Cas’ skin, whatever the hell it’s comprised of, feels awfully weird against his lips, but he’s accepted that there’s gonna be a lot of _weird_ from now on.

He keeps his eyes shut to kiss Cas, but there’s a pleasant, if funny, lurch in his stomach when he senses the flash of vibrant electric blue behind his eyelids. When his eyes open again, Cas as Dean knows him is standing right there. 

Dude looks smug as fuck. It’s a good look on him. “That was incredible,” he says, using both hands to encircle Dean’s wrist. His fingers trace over his pulse point and creep up to feel over each joint. Dean’s guessing he missed having hands with opposable thumbs. And Dean sure as hell appreciates those human hands, too.

“Told ya so.” He offers up a big flashy grin and a kiss, a real one. Dean rolls his tongue against Cas’, grunts when Cas moves those hands to mess up his hair, and it’s bizarre and electrifying and hot and yet weirdly _normal_ all at once. 

“You did n –” Cas begins, calling his bluff; Dean was shaking when he climbed onto Cas’ back, and no doubt Cas could feel that. But Dean still cuts him off with another kiss, and another and another.

It’s some ungodly hour in the morning. Dean knows he will probably have an awful nightmare in the future, one where he’s back above Opelucid and Cas and Vaporeon and Staraptor, they just vanish, and Dean’s left falling falling falling through the skies with no one to catch him. But right now, things are – kinda really good.

“Watch the sunrise with me? As long as we’re already out here.” 

Dean doesn’t miss the pleading look in Cas’ eyes. “You big sap,” he teases, but he’s an even bigger one, so he sits them both down and lets their Pokemon curl up beside them.

The sky changes until it’s flame-colored, muted with the morning haze. Staraptor shifts around in boredom for an hour or two, until Cas frees her to fly against the background of the sunrise. She makes a perfect dark silhouette. Dean falls asleep against Cas’ shoulder, but Cas doesn’t complain, not even when Dean ends up drooling on the heather gray henley Cas stole from his drawer. 

Kinda really good. For sure.


	7. Chapter 7

Icirrus City is quiet and indistinct as ever. That place is always on the front of holiday greeting cards, looking cozy, full of cabins with wistful little curls of smoke streaming from their chimneys. Dean could tell you from personal experience, though, that the city’s mostly just _cold_ , save the six weeks in spring when it becomes a muddy hell. 

Dragonspiral Tower, where they are, is still a marvel. Dean only saw it a couple of times, even though they spent _multiple_ raw winters in Icirrus, and he was a teenager. The bricks of the building, onyx and pearl white, spiral higher and higher until the clouds swallow the whole thing up. Grass rings the tower, a hardy breed that resists the choke of frost. A couple of Druddgion crunch through that grass, their kid’s plastic toy colors conspicuous against all the white and dull green, but they ignore the two new intruders. Vaporeon, dressed in a puffy orange jacket, huddles close to Dean’s leg. Staraptor remains steadfastly perched on Cas’ shoulder.

“Don’t think I would’ve seen this again without you,” Dean says to Cas, their shoulders knocking together. “Thanks.”

“I perched here a few nights. While I was gone.”

“Way to be a cliché.” Dean grins anyway.

“I know,” Cas sighs. “It didn’t feel right, anyway. It’s the wrong energy for Latios.” His breath puffs out into the air, white like Reshiram itself. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Dean shrugs. “Yeah, I could suck your dick when we get back.”

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas admonishes, though he’s laughing while he does it. “I appreciate it, but – that wasn’t what I was thinking at all. Unova is a beautiful place, and we’re lucky to live here. But I can take you other places.” He takes another deep breath. “I was thinking we could try to go to Goldenrod. If you think you’re ready for that.”

“Oh.” Dean wants to get out a joke, something like _I could still suck your dick anyway_ , but the words die on his lips. “You’re a damn genius, Cas.” 

“You don’t sound as casual as you want to, Dean.”

“It’s _scary_ , man,” he admits. “I haven’t heard news outta Goldenrod, or any other city outside of Unova, for months. I don’t know if there’s anything there, or just a smoking ruin.” 

“I can’t guarantee what will happen, but Goldenrod is still there. I know that for a fact. I’ll be there with you. I can guard against danger, if nothing else.”

“And you’re handsome to boot,” Dean returns, even if his heart isn’t in joking right now. “But what about Sam?” That’s what’s really throwing him off, the thoughts of him settling low in his gut and churning, churning, churning. “It’s been years. There’s a chance he doesn’t _want_ to see me. What then?”

“I’ll kill him,” Cas says, so nonchalant Dean doesn’t realize it’s a joke for a beat or two.

“So, overprotective boyfriend is a go.” He pauses, considering the world in front of him. It’s not Cas’ fault, but he feels like a speck here, in front of the tower. Unova seems like its own limitless galaxy, but it’s only a small slice of the world as a whole. Sam’s out there somewhere. He can’t stop _looking_. “I guess I am too.”

“Good.”

Cas reaches his hand out, and Dean grabs on. There’s a hard lurch in Dean’s gut; inappropriately, he thinks about how he’s not going to be able to _pass_ anything for like a week. And then he’s in an entirely new place.

Goldenrod’s huge, spreading out wide underneath the little hill they landed on; it puts Opelucid to shame. The city doesn’t seem to have much of a personality, though, just gray buildings with black roads cutting sharp paths between them. Most of the buildings are incredibly tall, reaching up and up and up like a mendicant’s hand. One impressively long tower reaches all the way up to the sky, clouds ringing around it. It’s much like another Dragonspiral Tower, a true marvel of architecture. Dean’s impressed until he remembers it’s just another damn mall. 

“Friggin’ malls,” he says, jerking his chin in its direction.

“I don’t know, I’ve found good things there occasionally.” Cas’ tone is as even as ever, but Dean peeks over at him and he’s got that little smile on his face.

They walk forward, traveling on into the city.

It doesn’t take them long to find Carver. Dean saw Carver in brochures; John ripped them all into big shreds and threw them out, but not before Dean all but committed them to memory because he’s always been an emotional masochist. The place is impressive. Gorgeous stone and glass buildings, libraries that commanded respect even in photos, pristine white labs that spread out across what looked like hundreds of floors. Some of the buildings have little marigold clumps spray-painted all of them, and it’s all bright and cheery, even considering it’s night. 

Kinda creeping Dean the fuck out, to be honest.

“Gotta try the dorms, right?” he asks Cas. No one on the Carver campus gives them a second look. Dean thinks about all the unrest over in Edlund, and as tumultuous as it made, well, everything, the tranquility on this campus creeps him out even further. 

The nearest dorm, according to the way-too-friendly students – Dean thinks of the coiled fury inside Tracy that time she whirled him around, desperate to shake him out of his apathy, and how much she’d have to whirl _everyone_ on this campus around – isn’t very far of a walk. Dean’s pretty thankful. Carver might be one of the best universities in the entire Pokemon world, but nothing about this place, with its goddamn flower paintings and cheery students, gives him a good feeling. The dorm looks cozy and comfortable, a place that could be a home for Sam. The first real home he’s known since he was six years old.

Dean hates it.

The entrance lounge to the dorm is unusually empty, save the reception desk. A girl’s cramped into a tiny corner of the desk, her Aurorus standing next to her. The girl is willowy, with flat, straight hair pushed neatly back with a headband and huge, outright mournful eyes. NANCY, her nametag reads in neat typed letters. 

“Hi, uh, Nancy?” Dean says. She looks up from her textbook, and almost immediately, the sadness in her eyes slats over to boredom. It’s an incongruous reaction, considering they’re strange men here in the middle of the night. Again, something ain’t right here. “Dean Winchester and Castiel Malach,” he offers, sliding their IDs over. She checks it and doesn’t look impressed. “I’m here to see my brother.” 

“Name?”

“Sam Winchester? He might be in this dorm.” 

She types something into the computer, then sits back and waits. Her Aurorus stares right at them. Dean’s never seen an Aurorus in person before. It’s a gorgeous Pokemon with shiny gem skin glittering in the shitty overhead fluorescents, but something is _off_ about this particular Aurorus. His skin catches the light with every shift of his body, but all the light’s been leeched out of his deep blue eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Nancy says. “Sam is on leave.”

Dean must have misheard. “What?”

“He’s on leave from school.”

“Does it say why?”

“I couldn’t give you that infor –” she starts, but then something in her facial expression shifts, and she drops that bored, above-it-all receptionist look. She doesn’t look mournful, like she did before, either. She looks _worried_. “No. I don’t know.”

“Alright. Thanks for your help,” Dean says. A couple of seconds earlier, it would have been sarcastic, but he means it now. Before they leave, he raps his knuckles on Nancy’s desk, and he sees Cas do a little salute. 

Once they leave the dorm, Dean – well, he didn’t want to think it, but his mind kept spiraling and spiraling and spiraling around one thought from the second Nancy said she didn’t know where Sam was at all. “Do you think Sam is –”

“Alive?” Cas asks, too goddamn smooth. “I know he is.”

“Cas, I appreciate the pep talk, but this is my brother we’re talking about.”

“No, Dean.” Cas’ eyes are always freaky blue, but he’s never seen them go this shade of unnatural, glowing blue, beacons in the dark. “I _know_ he is.”

“Shit,” Dean breathes out, relief in his voice. “Do you know where he is?”

“No. But I know _that_ he is. Not ideal, but it’s a start.”

So, Dean’s got no clue where his brother is or why he dropped out, and he hasn’t heard from him in months. He’s in an unfamiliar city, on a college campus full of shiny happy people who seem oblivious to the turmoil of the world around them. It’s all he can do to reach down and hold Castiel’s hand, because right now, that’s the one thing he does know. That, and Sam’s alive, which means goddamn hope is out there too.

They keep going through the city.

Carver’s a big campus, and it takes Dean and Cas a while to get to the edge of it and into the city proper. Dean knows from everything he read – again, goddamn masochist tendencies – that Goldenrod’s very well-off. It’s one of the richest cities in the entire Pokemon world. There are many thriving trainer centers here, and with them a boon of Pokemon Centers too. The city borders the water, and they’ve got the most advanced transportation, boats and trains and planes alike. It’s the best city in the world for trade and exchange, both of goods and ideas. Or it _was_ , anyway. 

But Cas has led them to one shabby part of town. They pass by only one trainer center, with a cheap stucco storefront and a neon sign that reads _Pokemon Training_ ; the R is dulled, mostly burnt out. It’s night by now, and though there are a few people on the streets, thankfully normal-looking and minding their own business, most of the stores are closed. The streets are awash in darkness, save for a couple of streetlights that flicker sickly.

“Some ambiance,” Dean mutters sotto voce to Cas, who bites back a laugh. It’s been a while since he was in this kind of place. John almost always took them to the _rougher parts_ of town, places with shop windows boarded over and long alleyways that reached out with seemingly no end. 

Dean peeks down the alley to the left, just in case. And then he does a double-take. There’s a Pokemon standing in the alley. 

She’d be easy to miss. She’s small, no bigger than Vaporeon, and moves like a dart. Her purple fur is inky dark and blends into the shadows cast by the buildings.

But she’s got those eyes that cut through the dark. Some would say they’re creepy; Dean’s heard it enough times, and when he was younger and woke up to her staring at him he sure as hell thought they were. Now, though, they just mean relief.

“Espeon.” The words all but launch out of his mouth, and then she’s running into his outstretched arms. She weighs way more than Dean can remember, from when he picks her up and cradles her against his shoulder, but funnily enough all it feels like is there’s a huge weight lifted off him now. “You know where Sam is?”

With one last long nuzzle, she reluctantly jumps down from his chest and starts skittering through the alleyways. Dean forgot all about her haphazard pace, the way she zig-zags from one side of the street to the other. It was annoying when he was a kid. His heart feels big in his chest for it now. 

Eventually, they find themselves outside a completely unremarkable apartment building. It takes ‘em longer than it should, because Vaporeon keeps interrupting Espeon to jump in front of her path and roll around together, but Dean can’t find it in him to get annoyed. Staraptor keeps giving them the stink-eye, but it’s at least her _affectionate_ stink-eye.

The building is weathered red brick and scuffed up, in a row with four other apartments that look just like it. Somewhere else in Goldenrod, Machamps and Golems are probably putting together ten more like it. 

Dean goes to open the door, but it doesn’t budge. He looks down at Espeon, who _totally_ rolls her eyes at him, and nudges at the door a bit until it opens and she can slip through, leaving it ajar. This might not be a very remarkable building, but there’s clearly some sort of protection on it. Dean and Cas follow Espeon, walking single file up a skinny, creaking staircase to the fourth story.

The door has a long strip of paint peeling from the top and opens without any of them pushing it. For the first time in over a year, Dean sees his brother.

Sam doesn’t look very different. He’s still freakishly overgrown, and his hair is somehow even more of a disaster. His plaid shirt is bright orange and some shade of green, so his taste in clothes apparently hasn’t improved much either. 

Dean still wants to hug the shit out of him. So he does, before he can even really register the utter shock in Sam’s eyes. “Sammy?” he asks. Like anyone else could be that tall with that ridiculous hairdo. 

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam responds, and if they’re practically rocking together in the doorway and it’s awkward as hell, Dean’s sure they can be forgiven in this moment. “It’s me.” 

When they break apart, though, it doesn’t take Sam too long to look full-on exasperated. “What the hell, man,” Sam says, his voice low but strained. “I call you, and call you and call you again, and e-mail you – I sent _letters_! The mail system is fucked between regions, but I tried, Dean. I gave up only a month or two ago, because I feared the worst. And now you just… show up?”

“Uh, first off, _hi_ ,” Dean retorts. “And the same damn thing happened to me. You were at dad’s funeral, then nothing. Did you even know I’m living in Opelucid?”

“I think we can say something very strange is going on,” Cas adds, peering around Dean’s side. “Worrying. I’m not sure how much time we have, but we’ll explain when we can.” 

Sam’s about half a foot taller than Cas, but he still looks taken aback by him. Cas can really come off like a drill sergeant, which is both efficient _and_ hot, conveniently. “Who’s this?”

“This is my, uh –” He’s not using _boyfriend_ because they are over fifteen years old, and he’s not using _lover_ because they are under fifty. There just isn’t some easy word for a tornado that knocks you the fuck over and buoys you up at the same time. “Cas. This is Cas. My Cas.”

Sam gives them a smile, a real one. “It’s good to meet you,” he says to Cas, and jerks his head in the direction of the rest of the apartment. Dean only notices now – he got a little distracted, understandably – how many other people are inside. If Dean didn’t know Sam had left Carver, this could have been a college party like any other. Well, except for that and the sobriety. 

Dean, very suddenly, finds himself looking right into the eyes of an Alakazam. He jolts back a bit, he admits. He _knows_ Psychic-types are no different from other Pokemon; hell, he defended Espeon for years. It’s just a little different when you find yourself face-to-face with a creature that’s six feet high, with a perpetually angry glare. 

“Alakazam, stop bothering them,” a woman’s voice chastises. She’s tall, with honey-colored hair and skin, a pretty filament moon-shaped pendant around her neck. “I’m sorry about that. You are…?”

“This is Amy,” Sam says, putting an arm around her and smiling. “My Amy. Amy, this is, uh, Dean. And Cas.” Dean doesn’t miss the way her eyebrows bounce up immediately.

Dean, on the other hand, just grins. Things are still way off-kilter between him and Sam, but he can pretend they’re normal for at least a little while longer. “No shit,” he says. “You guys met at school?”

“ _Thanks_ , Dean. You remember, uh, what happened in Nimbasa, right?”

Sam’s voice carries its usual cadence, but there’s a little wobble around _uh_ that’s only noticeable if you know him well. Dean’s not even sure if he counts in that group any more, but he notices it anyway. 

Of course he remembers Nimbasa. Sam’s disappearance warped the city’s bright colors, its ever-present carnival and its twinkly music, into Dean’s worst goddamn nightmare. Dad had finally found Sam a few days after he’d vanished, hanging out at an arcade flashing neon and sticky with cotton candy. “It was like he didn’t even care,” Dad growled, in a terrifying register. Dean never heard their confrontation, but it was enough that Sam was gone to Carver in a matter of months.

“I met Amy there,” Sam continues, and there’s another wobble in his voice. He’s _embarrassed_ now, Dean realizes, and he can’t help but let a proprietary older-brother grin tick up his lip at that despite everything else that’s gong on. “We, uh, got along pretty good from the start. And we were of age, so… we might’ve decided to try and get into Carver together.”

The realization crashes down on Dean, a tidal wave whirled into froth in a storm. “It wasn’t Dad?”

“Oh, it was Dad,” Sam says, with a laugh that’s tinged too dark. “But… good things factored into it too.”

“We were young. We were stupid,” Amy interjects, “but it worked out for us in the end.” 

She smiles a kind of smile where Dean’s not sure she’s aware he’s looking at her at all. It’s a smile meant only for Sam. He’s seen the equivalent on Cas’ face plenty of times, and every time, it gets him. He likes this chick. Way out of Sam’s league, but she’s great.

Sam leads him into the apartment anyway. Dean immediately feels old as hell, surrounded on all sides by chatty college kids, and he draws closer to Cas. Vaporeon’s close enough that her tail flicks against Dean’s legs. He welcomes that, too.

“How’d you even get here? We don’t know much about what’s going on, but we know transportation between regions is _screwed_.” Sam asks the billion-dollar question.

“Uh.” Dean catches Cas’ eye. If he wasn’t looking for his reaction, Dean wouldn’t have been able to see the barely perceptible shake of the head. “Consider that unnecessary details for now.” 

Sam’s eyes narrow, and Dean’s expecting a rant the size of Goldenrod about how he _hasn’t changed_ , but they’re only narrowed for a couple of seconds before Sam seems to relax. “Okay,” is all he says. “I get it.” Dean shouldn’t feel so stupidly grateful. 

Dean’s missed a lot in Sam’s life, and they’ll either have tons of time to catch up later or – and he tries not to think about this possibility too much – it won’t matter at all. But Sam’s turned out surprisingly normal. He’s made it on his own, away from the college he sacrificed everything to go to. His girlfriend’s a babe, trainer of a Psychic-type that only the most savvy trainers can manage to control.

And his other friends are total badasses too. Dean wonders if he should like college kids this much. Jake practically crushes his fingers when they shake hands, and tells him he was really into krav maga and thought about joining the army for a bit before he realized he didn’t want to put his Medicham through all of that. “It helps,” he adds, “that I thought the world was as safe as it was gonna get.” He snorts. “Imagine that.”

“What the hell happened at Carver? Cas and I were there earlier. No one seems to give a shit. There are protests on Edlund’s campus, people are getting _arrested_.”

“Tell me about it,” Ava says. She’s short, with a no-nonsense haircut with bangs and plain clothes. Her Malamar takes up all the flash, glowing in the dark and whirling his tentacles around. “I think anyone that didn’t get the hell outta there is too brainwashed to say anything.”

Dean thinks about Nancy and the look in her eyes, the way she hesitated. “Maybe not everyone.”

“Sure, maybe,” Ava grumbles, but because she still sounds awfully fucking bitter. “We’ve all been gone for months, ever since they cut our phone lines. Ever since we were only allowed e-mails from _authorized senders_.” 

“They kept asking for volunteers for some experiment. It was sketchy as hell, man. We think they were trying to take just about anyone from Carver who has a Psychic type. Something about superior brainpower they made up.” Dean barely knows Jake, but the idea of anyone trying to wrestle him into doing anything is absurd. Dude’s stink-eye could beat Cas’, and that’s saying something.

“Gotta admit it was pretty hilarious when they promised us fifteen dollars for taking their survey,” Ava says. “Us broke-ass college students.”

“Joke’s on them, they tried to kidnap me for a Medicham when we spent most of my childhood at the dojo, not working on any of her Psychic powers.” Jake’s the coolest.

“Calling us the psychic kids sounds way cooler,” Ava adds, and Jake nods his head in agreement before he nonchalantly fistbumps with her. Maybe Carver isn’t _entirely_ a douchebag factory.

“Yeah…” Sam’s friend Andy has a bad habit of trailing off before his thoughts are finished, hair like a mop, and an Exeggutor with notably overgrown leaves. 

They all wait awkwardly for Andy to finish, but apparently he’s got nothing else to say. “ _Anyway_ ,” Sam continues, “we all got the hell out of Dodge. Most of us have Psychic-type Pokemon, but we picked up a lot of sympathetic friends along the way. You met Ava’s girlfriend Ruby, and Ennis.” 

Ruby’s a short brunette wearing too much leather for such a cramped, hot space. She and her Roserade share twin smiles. When Dean was introduced to Ennis, the latter was wearing a shirt bearing the insignia of the Swords of Justice. “Thought that was just a Unova thing,” Dean said.

“It is, mostly,” Ennis told him with a shrug, “but I lived in Unova ‘til I was twelve, and I always liked the idea. Pokemon that saw the absolute worst in people, but defended them anyway.” 

“Never thought about it like that before.”

“Now you have.” Ennis smiled. Turns out he was a part-time student, devoting the rest of his time to training at the police academy in Goldenrod. He was one of their top recruits, and the sketchy higher-ups at Carver took a _serious_ interest in him and his Scizor because of this. He bolted and went off the grid with the rest of them. 

“We got the whole upper floor,” Sam tells him. “There are definitely a bunch of spare bedrooms. Shouldn’t be too much of a problem, uh, getting you and Cas your own room. If you want it.” 

Dean’s legitimately touched. They almost always had to share when they were on the road with John, and it was fucking awkward. The first couple of months when Dean was on his own, he kept waking up in the middle of the night because it was too damn quiet without another person’s breathing coming from the other side of the room.

Mostly, though, he can’t resist being an ass. “Sammy,” he replies, lascivious smile curving over his face, “you really shouldn’t have. I bet Cas’ll appreciate it –”

“I really don’t need to know, Dean,” Sam says. He’s visibly cringing. _Still got it_ , Dean thinks, outright giddy for the first time in months.

*

The bed here is outright skinny, with a faded flower-patterned bedspread. Dean remembers the crack about _broke-ass college students_. With how narrow the bed is, it makes him so _aware_ of Cas. Their legs tangle, and there’s just enough of Cas’ breath sliding back and forth, back and forth with every exhale against his collarbone that it’s gonna drive Dean crazy unless he does something. They haven’t done much since Cas got back other than scattered, rushed handjobs, and Dean’s cranked up to eleven.

“You wanna?” he asks, hand skimming Cas’ ribs. There’s a sizzle of power against Cas’ skin, fizzing up along his palm. Even though he logically knows they’ve already done stuff like this and it was nothing but sweet, sweet skin on skin, he’s almost expecting sparks to spring up when he touches his hand against Cas’ unclothed side. “I made sure the door’s locked, at least.”

“Yes,” Cas returns, and his voice is low but firm. Firm like his grip as he reaches down and pulls his shirt off, and Dean finally gets his hands on him, and sure no actual sparks go off but it’s warm and so close and _good_ anyway. 

Time slows to a syrupy crawl as they fumble with each other’s clothes. Nothing even really comes off, just shoved to the side or up around their chests. One kiss slides into the next, like they physically cannot stop. Dean wonders if that’s accurate, if Cas is the only thing that keeps his skin from burning even as the space between them is an atmosphere of pure heat. 

He’s not sure how Cas gets on top of him, whether he rolled there of his own accord or Dean tugged him on top, but he takes a second to look up as long as he’s facing him so plainly. It’s a nice view. Cas’ hair is messier than normal, and he’s got a couple of rumpled marks on his face from the pillow and sheets. But it’s his eyes that keep hold of Dean, at least until they’re lips on lips again.

Dean can’t stop thinking about Castiel’s damn feet while they’re doing this.

Not like _that_. He doesn’t judge, but it’s not his thing. Mostly, he’s too aware of how their feet keep bumping each other. There’s an awkwardness in how they crowd the space beneath their ankles, but also a familiarity. Dean’s slept with a ton of people, but he almost never saw the bottom of anyone’s feet, until Cas. It feels impossibly intimate. Their hands move, and their toes curl in time to the movements.

“I missed this,” Dean huffs, close enough Cas might swallow the words right out of his mouth. “Not just – oh, _yeah_ – not just sex.”

“Being close to you,” Cas says, voice surprisingly steady.

“You fuckin’ genius, Cas.” Dean kisses him again, and again, and again.

They’re in a tiny bed, barely big enough for the two of them, rubbing each other off thousands of miles from home. The world as they know it might come crashing down messy any time now. But Cas still has that Magnemite gaze, and Dean presses the arch of his foot to Cas’ when he spills all over his stomach, and it feels like home.

Dean wakes up later to Cas shaking his shoulder. He’s still naked, which is awkward when scratchy sheets drift against every nook and cranny of his body, and their come is drying sticky on his stomach. “Anna says she needs us back in Opelucid,” Cas tells him, with urgency in his voice.

“Shit. She say what for?”

“She said Charlie kept looking at that disk Gabriel gave her, the one from Marv’s headquarters, and that she found actual pertinent information on it.”

“Charlie kept trying to hack that, without you or Anna there?” Dean lets himself fall back against the pillow again. It’s flat as a board, but better than nothing. “That girl is so damn reckless.”

“Look who’s talking.”

Dean cracks one eye open. “ _Look who’s talking._ How’d Anna sound?”

“Point,” Cas concedes. “And not great. We should tell Sam we have to go.”

“I don’t know about that.” 

Cas props himself up on one elbow. “We’ll tell him everything – that you feel comfortable sharing, at least. We’ll see what he does.”

Dean’s got no idea what that will be. All of Sam’s possible reactions wash in front of him, until they’ve bled into a variegated mess. There’s a possibility some of those reactions are good, though, so Dean rouses himself from bed.

They make themselves decent, collect their Pokemon from the collective Pokemon room where at least one of Sam’s friends keeps guard throughout the night, and walk out to a verifiable smorgasboard. There are golden pancakes and waffles, plates piled high with bacon and greasy sausage. Dean doesn’t even wanna chance sitting down, because with the spread in the room, you might have to roll him out of it after.

Sam stands at the stove, flipping eggs and cursing under his breath when something from the pan hisses. Cas is at Dean’s back. It’s the two people he cares about most in the world, and with the morning sun starting to creep in through the windows, it seems awfully close to some sort of heaven, even with the cheap curtains and the rickety chairs at the table. It seems like mornings with _Mom_ , and Dean wouldn’t be surprised if Sam was going for that, but he’s not bringing that up when things are still this tentative between them. 

“Sammy,” Dean says, and his voice sounds so damned _pained_. “I’m so sorry, man, but whatever was going on back in Unova – it’s _really_ going on now. We gotta go.”

“Now?”

“ASAP, Cas’ sister said.”

Sam runs a hand through his truly ridiculous shaggy hair. “Shit.” The color’s waning from his face awfully fast. “Let me – let me go with you. I wanna help. Let us all go with you. I’ll ask around. How’d you manage to talk to his sister, anyway? Communication lines are all shot.”

Dean knows he’s looking at the piles of food with outright lust. “Can I at least tell you the deets over a decent meal?”

“What it’s here for,” Sam says, though his jaw is awfully tight.

“I’ll make myself scarce,” Cas pipes in, way too conspicuously, before he walks out of the room. That brings a smile to Sam’s face.

“Blunt weirdos are really great, huh,” is all he says, before settling down at the table, his plate piled so high with a selection of the buffet that he has to hoist, not lift, it.

“Uh, sorry to go zero to a hundred here,” Dean says, tearing into a waffle in a desperate attempt to keep things casual, “but Cas is – Latios.”

Sam very pointedly puts down his fork. “Latios like, Latios Latios?”

“The one and only legendary Pokemon Latios.”

“Well, that explains how you got here, at least.”

“Yeah, takin’ the Pokemon Express is the only way anyone’s going anywhere.” Dean takes a big bite of the waffle, trying to sort out what the hell he’s gonna say. “Look, Cas only just found out who he was a couple of weeks ago. Turns out his adopted mom – and lemme tell you, I think we still win most fucked-up family, but what he had going on at least provides some halfway decent competition – was erasing any memories he had of it.”

At this point, Sam’s actively pushing his plate away. Probably wants to distance himself just as much from this conversation. Still, he asks, “But why… _erase his memories_?”

“Stepdad, who is one piece of work, was probably gonna use his powers for God only knows what if he found out.”

“That _is_ fucked up.”

“Well, you didn’t get into Carver for nothin’, Sammy.” Sam pulls a face at that, which Dean pointedly ignores. “Oh _yeah_ , and did I mention I got kidnapped for a couple of hours and only got saved by Cas’ powers when some _assbag_ tried to blow up his Steelix to take the entire place out?”

Sam’s fist actually bangs against the table, and if Dean makes a very unmanly yelp and jumps back a bit, well, only his brother is here to witness it. “What the _hell_ is going on over there?” Sam’s face is splotched crimson. 

“Wish I could tell you. Wasn’t too fun being on the business end of it.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Sam says, quieter now. Even more muffled, he gets out, “I’m glad we got this, at least.” 

“Sammy, you sap.” Dean manages to get another forkful down, finally. “If you come with us, Espeon’s going to have to fight, you know that. I’m not happy about putting Vaporeon in that situation, but I’m basically the one who dragged everyone into this mess. It’s the least I owe them.” 

“I get it,” Sam says, nodding, “Trust me, I do.” The funny thing about his relationship with Sam was that Dean felt like his brother _didn’t_ get him. Sam never knew what ice cream flavor he wanted and he never bothered to memorize the way he took his coffee. He laughed out loud one time when Dean mentioned he liked kids, because he assumed Dean was joking. But at the same time, that bone-deep understanding of certain ineffable situations that they could only talk around, Sam got _that_ , and Dean could be grateful for it. “Thing is, I _was_ training Espeon at Carver. Turns out when you don’t have a – a drill sergeant dad –”

“Sam –”

“This is about you, too, Dean! When your dad isn’t yelling at you to beat every trainer in the world and you’re just sparring with your friends and their Pokemon, training is actually kind of _fun_. Hard to believe, I know. Maybe one day we can try it again.”

Dean hates the way he almost feels excited about this, but the memories of him and Sammy together, training side-by-side and beating trainers three times their age, could never go away. No matter how long it’s been. “You don’t know how dangerous it is out there.” 

“I’m not twelve any more, Dean.”

“I know that,” Dean says, and as he bites back a sigh it’s like they never grew up after all. “It’s, uh, a literal thing. I don’t know much either. No one does. We could get back to Opelucid to find it gone, or even all of Unova. The reason we could talk to Cas’ sister Anna is because she’s Latias to his Latios, and he told me she sounded real worried. I can’t ask you to get tangled up in all this crazy shit, Sam.”

Almost casually, Sam plucks up a piece of bacon. “You’re doing it,” he points out as he chews. He makes a noise stuck between chuckle and grunt, part real amusement and part shaded with something darker and deeper, and more to himself than anyone else. “It’s just what we do.” 

The words hang in the air for a long time, and Dean knows there aren’t any arguments left to make Sam say no. But he’s gotta try one more time, because that’s his brother. Funny, because that’s why Sam’s going to come with him anyway. “I – I just can’t ask you to do this.”

Even if Sam looks shaken now, he manages a smile. “You didn’t ask. I said it, Dean.”

He’s close to guaranteed to complain about it later, but right now, Dean’s glad as hell his brother’s stubbornness hasn’t faded away. Like anyone’s could in the Winchester family. 

Sam leans back in his chair a bit, pushing himself away from the table. When he speaks next, Dean can tell he’s trying not to be judgmental. “This Cas guy. He worth all the drama?”

“Love of my damn life, Sammy,” Dean says, automatically. 

Sam presses his lips together; he looks thoughtful. After a moment, he says, “I’d go through all of it again for Amy. Dad freaking out – twice. Moving to a new region on my own. All the _crap_ that happened at Carver. I’d do it again.” 

“So you get it.”

Sam chuffs out a laugh. “Yeah. I do.” 

Sam tells him he’s going to go ask his friends about coming with them, and excuses himself from the table. By the time Dean’s stuffed full of carbs and fat, he’s surrounded by a group of college kids eager to go with him. They’ve all got different levels of enthusiasm – Ava and Ruby chatter on about _kicking ass_ with a somewhat worrying gleam in their eyes, Ennis nods stoically, and Andy still looks like he’s mostly asleep – but they’re all going back to Unova with Dean and Cas. 

With the motley crew of college kids in front of them, Dean thinks about the girl who pointed them in this direction in the first place. “Nancy,” he says to Cas. “We gotta go back.” 

“Nancy?”

Cas has a good heart. He’s just got his eyes on the big picture and an awfully scattered brain a lot of the time. “The receptionist. The one with the Aurorus.”

“Oh, yes. I don’t think I got her name.” It figures Cas remembers when Dean brings up the dinosaurs. 

“She was working at the front desk of one of the dorms when we stopped by,” Dean explains to the others, who don’t seem to know Nancy at all despite going to the same college as her. “She said you were on leave, Sam, and seemed thrown off by the whole thing. She’s the only one who seemed to realize something was awfully fuckin’ wrong over there.”

“You had to show ID, didn’t you?” Lily is the quietest of all of Sam’s friends. This is the first thing she’s said to Dean other than her name when they were introduced. Dean’s noticed her sticking close to her Starmie. Starmie demands attention, its shiny central gem flashing any time it catches the light. Lily shies away from it. Still, she clings to that Pokemon. 

“Yeah, why?”

Jake grimaces. “Wouldn’t surprise me if they’re tracking you now. It’d be best to get outta here.”

They stop back at Carver, of course, to take Nancy back with them. Most of Sam’s friends stay behind at the apartments – they’re not daring to set foot on campus – though Amy goes to help them find their way. “I grew my hair out since I went on leave,” she says, a little too cheery. She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself. “They won’t recognize me. I’ll help you find your way around campus.” 

Dean still notices that she calls Alakazam back into its Poke Ball, her face contorting into something way more unpleasant than anything he’s seen out of her yet. She doesn’t like this either, he can tell.

Jimmying the lock for the maintenance door toward the back of the dorm is easy enough, even if they all have to crawl through some bramble patches. The three of them practically friggin’ tiptoe through the dorm hallway. Dean’s hoping no one’s patrolling these hallways. Either they’d be like the creeps who took way too much interest in Sam and his buddies, way too similar to the goons currently occupying the nursery at Edlund – or worse, they’d be just another college student with no idea what’s going on. Dean’s not gonna let whatever tentative plans they’re forming fall to bits because he got into a fight with some kid. 

He really wishes he could bail them all out, no matter how happy and oblivious too many of the students here are. Maybe especially because of that. His annoyance at the students of Carver has faded away, and Dean feels frankly embarrassed that he’d been that mad in the first place. But a large-scale rescue mission is way too conspicuous. 

Thankfully, Nancy seems to live in a single, a door decorated unsurprisingly with enormous foam flowers and snowflakes alike. “Probably wise for Amy to go in, not one of us,” Cas advises when Dean’s about to open the door. 

Amy nods, goes in, and comes out about five minutes later with Nancy trailing behind her. Nancy looks a little more approachable now – she ditched the secretary-wannabe getup for jeans and a white t-shirt – but her eyes are still enormous, and she walks with one hand on her Aurorus for support. 

They head back to the apartments. Nancy gets her shirt torn at the sleeves by the briars in the bushes, but she just rips both those sleeves off and doesn’t stop moving. Dean raises an eyebrow at that. Maybe she’s not such a wilting flower after all. Aurorus isn’t exactly easy to hide, which makes Dean nervous every time a plane crosses overhead, but he helps them here, moving ahead of Nancy to tromp over the bushes.

Sam and his friends are gathered outside the apartment when the four of them get back. Dean feels a sudden pang of sympathy for all of them, from stoic, serious Ennis to near-silent Lily to Ava and Ruby, heads inclined toward each other and cackling. They’re a group of college kids who never asked for anything other than an education, and now they’ve been forced to go on the run from God only knows what for months. Dean remembers Espeon as incredibly playful, always bounding around and trying to find other Pokemon or even humans to play with, but she sticks tight to Sam’s side now. 

“Now or never, right?” Sam asks. There’s a smile on his face, but it doesn’t look quite right. 

“Right.” Dean nods at him.

Cas takes Dean’s hand; it’s warm and privately thrilling as ever, even if the situation doesn’t much call for that. His other hand touches Jake’s shoulder, and there’s a lot of fussing around to get everyone in contact, but then in an instant they’re all gone. 

Dean hopes they return to Goldenrod one day. He hopes to see Carver, maybe the best college in the world, some time when he’s not so swallowed up by bitterness. And when it’s a place that the students on there can walk around freely and flash him big toothy smiles for good reason, not because they don’t know what the fuck is going on.

He hopes. Hope’s all he got, it seems.

*

When they arrive back in Opelucid, Dean blinks. There’s quite the group gathered there. They all fit in the house, a big, airy luxury cabin, warm and fragrant with wood smoke. “Flagstaff’s house,” Cas tells Dean. “She’s such a stickler for the rules, I wouldn’t think…”

“Cas, thank God!” Anna exclaims, running up to them and hugging him hard enough that she lifts him off his feet a centimeter or two, and Cas pulls a hysterically flummoxed face. “Where the hell have you guys _been_?”

“Icirrus City and Goldenrod.”

“In one day?” Anna punches his shoulder. “Look at you, Cas.” Her expression drops into something much more serious. “But, uh, not to ruin the party, but the info we found on the disk. It’s not good. Whoever Marv was working for, they’ve got people on the inside in Edlund, have for months. It’s how they managed to take over the nursery. They’ve been going after Edlund.”

“I love my alma mater,” Charlie says, appearing at their side virtually out of nowhere and clapping her hands around Dean and Cas’ shoulders, “but what the hell do they want with Edlund?”

Unlike Charlie, Gabriel drifting into and out of conversations is not a surprise. “Yeah, what would _anyone_ want with one of the premier research universities in the world? Miles of state of the art technology, pffft.” 

“You… have a point,” Anna admits.

“I know,” Gabriel returns, smug. “Now we just gotta figure out what to do to stop the bastards.” 

Dean takes a moment to look out over the crowd. It warms his heart to see Tessa and Jody and Benny there, all of who come over to greet him. He’s tasked with introducing them all to Sam, Amy, and the rest.

The real shock, though, is Tracy and Claire’s presence. They’re chatting very familiarly with Flagstaff, her Garchomp mock-jousting with Claire’s Noibat. Tracy’s Rampardos stands guard over the three of them, snorting when he sees Dean. 

“Your boy’s a good one,” Flagstaff tells Dean later. “Tipped me off that the fuzz was after these two. I might’ve stepped in.”

“Uh, isn’t _the fuzz_ Naomi?”

“Yes.”

“That gonna get you in trouble?”

She flicks her tongue over her top lip. It’s lizard-like, and not an entirely pleasant gesture. “It’s likely.”

“Doesn’t matter now,” Cas says, quietly. Dean tugs him close at that. He sure as hell knows what it’s like to dredge up the courage to say any goddamn thing against your family, even the parts of it you can’t stand.

Anna goes pale, suddenly. “Speak of the devil,” she says, pushing her phone forward. It’s buzzing, jumping off the table she placed it on with every vibration. _Naomi_ , it reads, and of course her picture even on Anna’s phone is an oddly stiff portrait.

“Gotta be kidding me,” Dean growls, in a voice that surprises even him. “Have you talked to her since…?”

“ _No_ ,” Anna growls right back. “This is a new development. Hours new.” 

Anna’s phone stops ringing. Before anyone can express relief, though, Cas pulls out his phone. It’s ringing now. “Guess who,” he says, grimly. His phone is still in his hand, but he stares at it like he could will the whole thing to wither if he really, really tried.

The entire group gathered here, those Dean knows and those he hasn’t met yet, has turned to face them now. Dean shifts in his seat, uncomfortable with the unintentional spotlight. The churning in his stomach, indecision made physical, doesn’t help.

“I get it,” Charlie announces, suddenly. A couple dozen heads swivel in her direction, but she just shrugs. “Naomi’s Dumbledore.” 

“What?” It’s more than one person asking. Dean meets Sam’s eyes and chuckles, though, because they’re clearly the only ones in the room who get the reference. Like most fantasy media, _Harry Potter_ wasn’t popular at all in the regions with Pokemon, because magic doesn’t sell too well when people can take a stroll down the street and run into twenty creatures with unbelievable powers. 

As for Dean, though, those books were always way marked down in shops, so they’re the ones he bought so Sammy’d shut up on long car rides. If Dean himself enjoyed them, too, he kept that tucked close to him, just like he sometimes crept into his sleeping back with one of those books hidden under his shirt. They both read all of ‘em until the pages fell apart and Vaporeon accidentally splashed water all over them. Dean loved those genre books, however shitty their sales were in Unova; they were great for kids who needed to escape. 

“She’s – ugh, you guys need _culture_. Naomi’s Dumbledore. She’s got some fucked-up ways of handling – well, just about everything. But her heart’s in the right place. The ‘let’s not get taken over by total evil and have them completely destroy society as we know it’ place, at least. Those other guys, they’re – ugh, I don’t want to say it – they’re Voldemort.”

“Let me guess, the total evil who wants to completely destroy society as we know it?” Cas sounds odd imitating Charlie’s cadence.

“Got it in one. Look, I’m picking neither to be my BFF, but if I need someone on my side, I’m gonna take Dumbledore.” 

“Got no idea what she’s talking about, but she has a point,” Benny says. Slowly, everyone around them nods. 

Everyone stares at Cas. Cas glares right back. 

Cas picks up his phone, puts it on speaker, and all but throws it down on the table.

“Castiel.” There’s legit surprise in Naomi’s voice. Unguarded emotion from her might tilt the earth off its axis. “Can’t say I ever thought I would hear from you again, but –”

“Spare me the family reunion, we need your information.” 

“We?”

“I have my friends here,” Cas says. “From my _job_. The people I grew up with. We might have to save at least the city, so. We’d appreciate any information you have.” 

“I don’t know much.” 

“So why’d you call me?” Anna snaps. 

There’s a long silence, and frankly Dean expects the line to go dead. Then Naomi’s voice picks up again. “Zachariah went to Sinnoh.”

“Zachariah never goes anywhere. Too many people to ingratiate himself to here.” Cas is looking anywhere but at his phone.

“It may have to do with Marv’s passing, I don’t know. I do know he made it to Sinnoh. You know how rare it is for anyone to travel outside their region these days.” 

“I may or may not know someone who used interdimensional powers to get to Johto, so yes,” Anna says, pointed. 

The other side of the line line goes quiet for a long pause again. “I _am_ sorry,” Naomi says, at last. “I was no mother, and I treated you inexcusably. But I do care about you. You, Castiel and Anna, for who you are. You don’t ever have to see me again after this. But I need you, one more time. For the world, because I do care.” 

For a long time, Cas and Anna don’t say anything. This talk with Naomi, for those two, has been more silence than conversation, and Dean doesn’t blame them. “Do you know where in Sinnoh,” Anna says, at last.

“Mt. Coronet.”

Well, shit. Mt. Coronet is a massive mountain that runs through the whole damn Sinnoh region. Only a couple of people and their very hardy Pokemon bother to hike it each year, crazy hikers who are way too happy to bundle up and head on into dark half-frozen caves within the mountain. The trek takes months. Snowpoint City in Sinnoh has a special ceremony every year to honor those who do make it through the cave. It’d be damn fine hiding spot, at least, but that’s not a good thing when you’re trying to _find_ the assholes. 

“We’ll find them,” Cas says. Dean knows Cas is just as aware as he is of Mt. Coronet’s size, but he sounds determined, at least. “Thank you, Naomi.” Might as well be saying _fuck you_ with his tone. He ends the call.

“Let’s go save the world,” Dean says. He doesn’t mean it all that seriously, but Charlie gives him the littlest fistpump, and Cas – who still looks shaken, who still has his arms crossed – offers him a small, private smile.

This world _sucks_. Dean knows that above everyone. 

But it’s also got its good moments. God, he’s got Sam back in his life now, bringing a virtual cavalry with him. Vaporeon’s the most loyal creature he’s ever met, and kept him sane throughout all these lonely, fucked-up years; she’s as much of a fighter as any other Winchester, too. And in the worst situations, when the darkness hangs heavy over his shoulders like a physical weight, he’s got the memory of Mom. Cas’ smile is right there, too, not big but so brilliant all the same. 

Alright. Let’s go save the world.

*

“There is definitely Golbat poop in my hair,” Charlie grumbles, gingerly picking her way through the tunnels with every step. Vulpix is only a few steps ahead of her, lighting a path. Espeon walks alongside him, using echolocation to show the crowd the path. In the cave’s silence, the waves make noise when they hit against the wall. It’s eerie as hell. “I can’t believe people do this voluntarily each year.” 

“Sammy’s the type,” Dean says, clapping his brother on the back. 

“Had enough of camping for a while,” Sam says, and even in the dark Dean can see how much he’s glaring. Okay. Point taken. 

They haven’t been here for more than a couple of hours, but it’s already clearly wearing on all of them. Their footsteps have slowed to a shuffle. There’s almost no natural light in this place, and only some of the Pokemon are proving useful; Benny’s Herdier in particular keeps grumbling because her herding abilities aren’t very helpful here. 

“Preeeee,” Vaporeon trills, scratching at Dean’s ankle. He feels it even through his starch-stiff jeans and his boots; she’s got sharp little claws when she wants to draw them out. She never does shit like this, clawing or showing any aggressive behavior outside of a battle; right now, she’s more or less demanding his attention.

“What is –” Dean starts to ask the question, but when he looks ahead, he sees it. There’s a glint, off to the side. If it was only him that saw the glimmer, he’d assume he was imagining it, trying to conjure it out of sheer want. But Vaporeon saw it. And Vaporeon sure as hell knows water.

Vaporeon’s redirection leads the group to a whole new area, a mass of black tunnels to convoluted they might as well be tied in knots, too narrow for them to fit through in any way other than single file. Dean notices Cas and his siblings carrying their Flying-type Pokemon, because they don’t fit in a perch on their shoulders any more. 

They emerge into a new area after God knows how long walking. It’s merely an open space around a pool. Stalagmites sprout out of the ground in the corners, and a couple of shy Sableyes dart behind them as more people and Pokemon fill the area. It’d probably be pretty if Dean could see for shit right now.

“It’s very quiet here,” Castiel says to Dean. Now that he’s come closer, Dean can see just how mortally offended Staraptor looks cradled in his arms. 

“Yeah. Too quiet.”

“Suspected you might say that.” The corner of Cas’ lips poke up a bit. “Do you also _have a bad feeling about this_?”

“For one,” Dean whispers, “don’t quote Harrison Ford to me in public, because that’s _way_ too hot. But if you want my honest answer? Yeah.” His voice went from jocular to dead serious way too fast.

Cas puts a hand on Dean’s arm. It’s almost enough to soothe him.

The lake is vast, and the room’s so dark it’s hard to see much in the distance. But at the other end, so far off it might be a full mile away, light rises up from what seems like the floor itself. It’s soft light, but with the darkness of the cave it makes the edge of the room into a stark silhouette. It reminds Dean of nothing so much as a halo. 

One by one, heads turn until they’re all looking at it. “Someone’s there,” Anna says. 

They head out toward the light source. After hours in this cave, dark as the night sky without a star or light pollution to mar it, its glow might as well be a beacon. 

Or it’s a very obvious trap. Dean prefers not to think about that option. 

The trek takes them a while, but once they get closer to the light source, it’s obvious why it looks like it’s rising. The ground cuts out abruptly not far in front of them, leading to a long, long drop down. It’s impossible to make out any details from up on where they are, which is more or less a cliff, but there are definitely people milling around. A pretty sizeable group, too. They’ve got a bunch of artificial light sources, and the shadowy forms of Pokemon, indistinct from this far away, huddle around them.

“Zachariah,” Cas says. His voice is low, but strained as hell. “This is where he is.” 

“And a lot more where that came from,” Amy offers. There must be fifty people and Pokemon below them, and they’re all staring in the same direction, like they’re waiting for something. Dean just hopes it’s not _them_. 

They aren’t. Someone strides forward. His face catches the light enough that even from the distance, Dean can actually make out his features.

He’s a blandly good-looking man, though Dean wouldn’t remember his face if he hadn’t seen it before. The guy’s not particularly tall or short and his hair is stuck somewhere between brown and blond. “Hello, all,” he greets. His voice has musical lilt to it.

Oh, shit. Dean knows this guy. Lucas Christopher was a big-shot senator from Johto who flat-out _disappeared_ around the same time Sam left for Carver. His neighbors reported weird sounds and silver flashing lights from his house for a couple of weeks leading up to his disappearance, but when the house was investigated, it hadn’t been tampered with. No one else ever came up with any other evidence. The authorities wouldn’t use the word _deceased_ when they talked about Lucas, but anyone could see it in the odd stiffness of their shoulders and jawlines.

Lucas wasn’t married, and he didn’t have any other family. He had lots of political rivals, because the guy was kind of a firebrand asshole for his causes, but they all had alibis that checked out. Still, Dean had figured at the time, all it took was one extremist. 

Mostly just pissed him off, though. God knows what the hell was going on in Johto when a _senator_ disappeared with no explanation. And now Sam was gonna go there, too.

Dean would have rushed into the same situation if it was him. But dad had told him, many times, that his job was to care for his brother. Worry about him. 

Whatever happened to Lucas Christopher, it turned out he wasn’t _deceased_ after all. “I trust you kept things in working order in my absence.” 

“Yes, sir.” Dean can only see the back of Zachariah’s head, but he can hear the glee in his voice.

“I don’t see Marv here,” Lucas points out.

Smoothly, Zachariah responds, “He… went out defending some information I think you’ll find very interesting.”

“Is it about the missing number?”

“These guys can’t even bother to use a code name,” Charlie whispers from next to Dean. 

“Yes, sir.” Dean can’t tell if Zachariah’s this nauseatingly obsequious because it’s truly his personality, or because he’s trying to ingratiate himself with Lucas. Then again, Dean’s pretty sure Zach’s entire personality is ingratiating himself and ignoring the scores of kids he adopted when not being outright cruel to them. 

Okay, so he’s got something against the guy. No one can blame him when the people he probably considered his children are holding back their snarls at his words, Cas especially.

Lucas laughs, a soft chuff that disappears quickly. “It’s no matter. We have no use of that _thing_ any more.” 

“Oh?” Dean’s got no idea how this guy isn’t getting _constantly_ punched in the face. 

“Yes. We’ve got other, superior resources. I’m sure you remember my Pokemon.” With one flick of his wrist, Lucas’ Hydreigon materializes from her Poke Ball. Dean’s always thought Hydreigon were awesome. This is the first time he’s seen one in real life and not just on television with some of the top battlers, even now that he’s living in Dragon-hungry Opelucid. 

Still, when Dean looks at Lucas’ Hydreigon, he finds himself cringing more than anything else. Her eyes are flat and expressionless, lacking the keen luster he’s seen in photos of other Hydreigon. She’s still got the bright purple underbelly and the skinny black wings that rise and fall, but something about her is just… off. It’s a ridiculous thought, considering Hydreigon are one of the most powerful Pokemon in existence and Lucas Christopher’s skill as a trainer was well-known, but Dean wants to scoop her up and take her to Edlund Nursery when this is all over and done with. 

“Truth be told, I don’t need her any more.” Lucas pulls out a knife from his belt. From this distance, Dean can’t make out the details other than that it’s silver and ornately carved, but the beauty of it doesn’t matter when he holds it right up to Hydreigon’s ribs, poking at them with it. 

Dean rears back, and for a split second he doesn’t worry about giving himself away when something that goddamn barbaric is going on in front of him. He senses the recoil from everyone around him, the sheer disgust, the shock.

You just don’t threaten Pokemon, especially your own. 

“She doesn’t even know the danger she’s in right now. I don’t need her.” Lucas is cooing. “Yet I keep this creature alive out of sheer sentimentality. And they call me a bad guy.” 

They had, it’s true. Lucas Christopher had pushed very hard to lower the minimum age for owning Pokemon to somewhere around the age _Sam_ was when he got his first Pokemon. Dean had no regrets when it came to Vaporeon except wishing he’d been a better trainer to her at times, and he knew Sam felt the same way about his Espeon, but they’d been way too young. Once he rose to fame, Lucas also didn’t battle all that much – he’d retired from battling when he became a senator, and he only ever had the Hydreigon, not the full team most serious trainers had – but he was vicious, and left more than opponent absolutely sobbing on the other end of the arena, their Pokemon a scorching heap that needed immediate medical care.

Thankfully, this time, he drops the knife. “You may wonder why I don’t need her,” he continues. “As you’re aware, I’ve been… missing, these past few years. In actuality, I was merely finding myself.” 

“Everyone needs a vacation,” Zachariah agrees, because of course he does.

“I worked too hard to call it that, Zach,” Lucas says. “I tapped into power unheard of before. And it was all – right inside me.” 

“Sounds like an excellent vacation to me,” purrs a redheaded woman. “You must tell us about it.”

Lucas pauses. A smile crawls across his face. “The Distortion World.” 

Cas has been tense this whole time, by Dean’s side. He’s shifted around way too much, and clapped a hand on Dean’s shoulder like he desperately needed to draw his strength. But now, Cas goes stiff as the cave wall. Dean can’t see too many other people in the group he came with, but he suspects they’re reacting similarly. 

The Distortion World is supposed to be a myth, but as Dean’s been learning pretty fucking quickly, way too many of those are actually true. They had a “spooky sleepover” for a class of third graders at work once, and Dean still remembers Benny, flashlight tucked under his chin, telling the kids about an alternate dimension where it was always night, and a waterfall poured from the sky. 

The place is more notable as the supposed home of Giratina. Sinnoh’s legends say Giratina was sent to Sinnoh to protect them, but it was banished for violence. It found a home in that isolated, strange place, where no other Pokemon or humans could intrude on its land.

And apparently Lucas Christopher takes extended work vacations there now, too. There’s palpable excitement among the people gathered below them. Fantastic. 

“So what did you find?” the redhead asks. She’s practically tipping over in her excitement.

Lucas’ only response is to start glowing purple. Neon purple, enough to throw the entire area into high relief. Black stones cut jagged lines into the expanding contour lines of color around him, until he starts changing.

Oh, shit.

All of Lucas gets swallowed up in the purple, stretching, _mutilating_ until what’s there isn’t a human at all, but a Pokemon. It’s a gargantuan cross between a snake and a dragon, but far more horrifying than both. Its face is plated gold, and black wings thin as tissue paper rise and fall. The glow around the creature fades, but the light stays alive in its eyes. 

Here it is, in the goddamn flesh. Giratina. 

One calm voice echoes through the open area. _We have visitors,_ Lucas, in his very large and _very powerful_ new form, says.

Oh, _shit_.

Lucas rears up, exposing his full length. He’s shockingly huge. All of his body is coils, unfurling over and over again. There’s an end to him, there must be an end to him, but the ribbon of his form keeps unspooling.

Then, his body rams the cliff edge and it collapses, little more than crumbs. Dean is suddenly falling, falling, falling, his stomach gone into his throat. It’s so stupid, everything he’s been through, just got his brother back, and he’s going to die falling off a cliff in one of Mt. Coronet’s black caves.

And then he’s sopping wet, suspended by an enormous spout of water. Vaporeon’s in the pool gathered in the big room, paddling furiously while causing two huge geysers to hold up not only Dean but also Benny and his Herdier. “Knew I loved that gal!” Benny shouts, Herdier barking in support. 

They drift to the floor in what feels like slow motion. It’s such a long ride down, the little spurts of water jumping up against Dean’s back. And then, on the ground, chaos fucking erupts.

*

It’s a goddamn battle, that’s for sure. In the sudden bedlam, it’s hard to get his bearings, and he finds himself on his ass when Vaporeon sends enormous water twisters out from the pond. They shoot across the floor, cutting down anything in their path. A couple of Raticates get blasted back, and the advancing Spiritomb actually dissolves. Dean cringes. Those Pokemon didn’t ask for this. He hopes they’re alright. 

He’s not surprised when he feels a hand on his shoulder, and thankfully it’s friend, not foe. “Cas,” he says, as Staraptor disentangles her claws from Cas’ now somewhat shredded shirt and goes right after a Castform dusting snow over Hannah’s Tropius. “Thank God.” He grapples at Cas’ middle, something too desperate to be called a hug, but he tenses up when there’s no motion from Cas to return the gesture.

“Dean,” Cas says. “You know what I have to do.” 

It takes Dean a moment to realize what the hell Cas is even talking about, because he wasn’t even considering it, and he instantly recoils. “You – no way. You can’t do that. You’re putting yourself in danger if you do. Even if we get out of here, you’re vulnerable. Someone’s gonna talk. _Zachariah’s_ gonna talk.” 

“I’m putting _the universe_ in danger if I don’t,” Cas counters. “They know we got here somehow, they must suspect. I can handle it.” He crushes Dean’s lips to his own, and this is so not the time or place, but Dean still feels himself sliding closer; he’s trying to get taken in, goddamn devoured, by Castiel’s body. 

Cas steps backward, an unreadable look on his face, blue eyes set hard and mouth tight. That face vanishes in a flash, as Cas is all but blasted away by sizzling blue light that carries him up and up and leaves him an entirely new figure.

_Well, look at this! A_ challenger _appears,_ Lucas cackles, his coiling snake body lunging right toward Cas’. But Latios is too fast for that – Latios and Latias didn’t get mistaken for jets for nothin’ – so he darts out of the way and slams into Lucas’ side. The body of Giratina has too much bulk for Cas’ attack to make much of an impact, but it’s something. It’s something. 

Lucas whips his head around. He’s glaring, but he still looks calm. So, so deadly calm. _I am willing to talk,_ he intones. _Unlike you brutes. Spying, attacking, making a mess of things._

“We’re not the ones making a mess of the universe,” Dean screams back. So he took the fucking bait. It’s worth it for some things. 

A Glalie spins through the air, right up to Dean. There’s a keen, vicious look in her eyes. Definitely shouldn’t have taken the bait. Glalie’s mouth drops open, and an enormous mist cloud trickles out. It’s white and looks almost fuzzy in the dark air of the cave.

“Vaporeon!” he heaves out, and she leaps in front of him, a stream of water already pouring out her mouth. The mist goes solid, falls to the ground with a chunk, and shatters everywhere. Once Vaporeon has an opening, she uses her tail to propel herself through the air and land on top of Glalie. Their combined weight sinks the ice ball Pokemon to the ground, where Vaporeon jumps on top of it once, twice, three times. Glalie’s left half-subsumed by the dirt.

“That’s not playing clean,” a voice says. Dean looks up from where he ended up sprawled on the ground, too, to see Lucas Christopher standing before him, fully human, a deep V furrowing his brows. His Hydreigon swims into view over his shoulder, the same completely blank expression on her face. 

“Oh, goin’ to another dimension to mutilate yourself into a Pokemon is practically Windex, buddy.” Dean gets kicked in the gut for that. Whoever did it has kick-ass, metal-tipped boots, so he finds himself rolling over and hacking out blood. 

“Thank you, Abaddon,” Lucas says, too calm. The redheaded woman from before smirks wickedly down at Dean; her lips and nails are as scarlet as her hair. A Tentacruel moves by her side, and even though Dean knows the name is a misnomer and most Tentacruel are perfectly docile to anything that’s not their prey, it’s really not making him feel too good right now. “That won’t be needed now.” 

Abaddon snaps her fingers at Tentacruel, who floats off toward the rest of the battle. Dean tries to follow their path, because he’s getting a _particularly_ bad feeling about that one, but there’s too goddamn much going on and his head still swims, warping his perception. 

“Dean.” He still recognizes that voice. Cas has gone back to his human form too, and now he’s hoisting Dean from the ground and slinging his arm around his shoulder to keep him upright. “Are you –”

“’M fine,” he gasps out, even as he coughs up more red spittle. 

Lucas is still just _standing_ there, flanked by Hydreigon, but now he crosses his arms and smiles triumphantly. That can’t be good. “I knew this was the way to get you down here in the muck with the other sad mortals,” he says, right to Cas. Dean wants to kick _himself_ in the gut, now, at the idea that he put Cas in any kind of danger. “And your lovely sister!” He gives Anna, who’s just rushed up to them, a big, friendly wave.

Anna’s already a mess. Dean’s not surprised she threw herself into a fight; her hair’s tied back, and there’s a nasty claw slash across the front of her shirt. “What the hell do you want,” she spits. 

“This is the part of the movie where the uptight heroes and the _far_ more interesting villains realize they’re not so different after all and team up, giving them both untold power.” Lucas sniffs and checks his nails.

“Why in the world would we do that?” Anna asks in a shriek. She’s all fury and Lucas is steely, creepy calm. Cas is caught in a mix between the two of them, face placid but a snarl starting to twist his mouth. Dean’s still way too woozy to respond to any of this properly.

“Because, sister, brother dear – guess who _else_ is your biological sibling, by right of being a legendary Pokemon? A true family reunion with the three of us would be _so_ very touching.”

Dean wonders if it’s possible for _anyone_ he knows not to have some completely fucked-up family. Probably not.

“That isn’t what _matters_ ,” Anna says. “What matters is who you became. Family is what you _make_ of it. Of course, when you think you’re Arceus’ gift, I’m not surprised you think differently.”

“Oh, but I am Arceus’ gift,” Lucas tells her, with a chuff of laughter. Dean wants to wipe the sound off the face of the earth. “A legendary Pokemon in human form, put here? I _am_. You are too, sister dear. And strange little Castiel.”

“You banished yourself to a Hell dimension for years, and you’re gonna call Castiel strange?” Dean can’t help but ask. His voice sounds raw, still.

“Feisty one.”

“And normally they just call me the pretty face.” There’s no Abaddon around to _bash him in the stomach_ , so he’s feeling pretty fucking bold. 

Anna steps forward. Even with her shirt cut across the belly and her hair spewing out of its ponytail, she’s tall, stately, intimidating. “We’re not interested,” she says to Lucas.

He shrugs, casual like Anna asked him where he wanted to go for dinner that night. “Suit yourself. I just let you know the facts. Don’t think I’ll be too _sentimental_ with you, sister. Brother.” 

“I’d expect nothing less.” Cas nods, once, and strides away, back into the battle.

“Hey, Luke.” Dean smiles, even if it’s still fucking hard to do so with his head so dizzy. “You know, the villains in movies _lose_ , right?”

Lucas smiles right back. “We have better plans than they ever did.”

He disappears into mid-air, then. Dean and Anna whirl around in place, wasting precious seconds, but he’s definitely gone. Fucking Giratina powers. 

There’s a bolt of light from where Cas disappeared to – Dean exhales, because he doesn’t like losing sight of Cas in this mess, not even for only a couple of seconds – and then Latios takes to the battle once more. It makes Dean sick to his stomach to see it, and he absolutely hates to admit it, but Cas was right. It’s an advantage for him to fight as Latios. He wrecks huge swaths of opposing Pokemon, who go tumbling heavily to the ground in his wake. 

Staraptor follows. Together, her and Castiel make some kind of goddamn tag team, each swooping in enormous parallel loops. He moves by Pokemon and they tumble over just from the force of him; the ones that don’t yield, Staraptor moves in to snipe. What must be ten Pokemon fall to the ground. They’re still breathing, but they’re out of fighting commission. 

Dean’s far from optimistic. But without Giratina out there fighting him, Latios destroys any other Pokemon that might come up against it. For now, they’re taking advantage. 

Of course, that’s when Giratina re-appears, and slams Latios into the wall. Dean hears Cas’ broken _uhh –_ as his back hits, sending chunks of rock to the ground, filling the cave with dust. Because the darkness wasn’t bad enough already. 

“Shit,” Anna says. She puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “You gonna be okay if I –”

“Sure,” Dean replies, trying to keep his voice strong. Anna gives him a look; Dean’s pretty sure she sees right through that, but at least she fuckin’ gets it. “I’m _fine_.”

As Latias, Anna rams Giratina right back. Latias and Latios aren’t even a quarter of Giratina’s side, but they’ve got agility on their side. Every time Giratina turns to attack them, he has to whirl his entire body around, and by that point both of them have gotten a few hits in and zipped off to find another vulnerable spot on his body. It’s going alright. It’s really going alright –

Dean just barely hears the Psywave attack before it strikes him in the head, which might’ve put him out of commission for good, but he ducks quickly. The attack thuds against the wall instead, sending more rock chips spraying from the point of impact. 

“You truly think you can stand here gawking and not fight?” says a cold, clear voice from right behind him. 

Dean thinks he recognizes that voice, from the goddamn news. A Drifblim had floated by earlier, and Drifblim aren’t too uncommon, but it still gave Dean an awful feeling. Sure enough, when Dean turns around, there’s Azazel in person, his Hypno alongside him. Her pendulum sweeps slowly from side to side, and Dean wrenches his gaze away from it.

He feels sorry for that Hypno too, though. She doesn’t look much better than the people Azazel and Lilith left behind did, stiff and preternaturally still and dead behind the eyes. Azazel, on the other hand, has eyes that glint gold when the light plays over them. His smile is lively and wide, and Dean shudders at the sight of it.

“Dean,” Azazel says, and the fucker knows his name. Vaporeon’s _hissing_ in front of him now. “You’re quite the talk of the town, you and that little boyfriend of yours. Quite the battlers, wasting it all on so much caring. Shame about that superiority complex, though. If only there was some way to stamp it right out, you’d be perfect.” 

Azazel taps Hypno on the head. It’s not an affectionate gesture; it’s a jab like there’s a particularly sticky button there. Sickness rolls right through Dean’s stomach. This is all so fucked up. 

Hypno shoots out another attack. He’s going right for Dean, ignoring Vaporeon entirely. That’s okay, if it means Azazel doesn’t go after Vaporeon; it gives him time to come up with a plan. 

He dodges the wave of purple energy, but this one doesn’t splatter into bits against the wall, it boomerangs right back. When he dodges it for a second time, he makes a pretty damn undignified yelp. “Vaporeon, Ice Beam!” Dean yells from the floor. He’s covered in grime, the shoulders of his already heavy flannel weighted by wet rock dust.

The attack hits Hypno square in the chest, and frost grows out from the point of impact. Hypno staggers a couple of feet back, but it’s not even clumsy. Really, they’re more like deliberate steps to recaliberate her balance. The spot of ice starts contracting as quickly as it was expanding, until there’s nothing left.

Dean’s seen his share of Substitute dolls, both in battle and in person; back when his mom was alive, back when the Winchesters were actually a _family_ , Dean had a Substitute doll himself. Even then, his dad made grumpy comments about _dolls_ , but his mom told him to hush and let him play. The ear fell off from Leafeon chewing on it so much, but Dean still loved it.

That’s what Azazel’s Hypno reminds Dean of, just an empty doll. A husk. It’s cute when it’s a child’s toy. It’s creepy as hell when it’s a supposedly living, breathing Pokemon. 

From the newscasts, Dean always figured Azazel and Lilith were using their Hypno and Drifblim to capture and hypnotize people. He thought they’d had an active role in it, even though they’d been twisted by their owners. Now, though, he’s realizing that the Pokemon were just as coerced as any human Azazel and Lilith got their claws on. 

Dean doesn’t want to do this, not even to people as repulsive as Azazel. But as he dodges another wave, one that ripples the air in front of him, he realizes he’s got little choice in the matter. “Vaporeon, Bubblebeam. Uh – go for the owner.” At least he’s using an attack that’s relatively less powerful.

Vaporeon’s eyes slot over to Azazel, and start glowing blue. A corresponding spot appears on Azazel’s shirt, before Vaporeon opens her mouth and out spills a horde of bubbles. They move too fast to catch the light of the various attacks launched in the battle all around them, but soon they pop, one by one, all over Azazel’s torso and face.

It takes a beat, and Dean’s heart thuds so heavy he can feel the copper taste in his throat, but Azazel still steps forward, wiping his shirt off to rid it of the bubbles’ residue. He very pointedly spits on the floor of the cavern. 

Azazel’s still _grinning_. The attack left him little better than wobbly, but that smile still gleams in the darkness with too-fucking-white teeth. “Attacking people, hmm? So much for that superiority. Knew we could wring it right out of you.”

Cas growls from above. _You leave him alone._ Sheer anger simmers in his tone.

All it gets from Azazel, though, is a shrug. “Leave _him_ alone? Suit yourself.” He smiles. It’s not very reassuring.

Before Dean’s got time to figure out what the hell they should do next, though, that’s when he hears it. Three goddamn awful words, ones he didn’t even consider as a possibility. 

“Poke Ball, _go_.”

The purple and white sphere – it’s a goddamn Master Ball, how the fuck did Dean not even think of this – hits against Castiel’s side, and he twists his neck around to get a look at what just hit him, even though it must be no more of an impact than a gnat on his human body. Before he even finishes looking, though, he’s getting channeled into the ball.

It shakes back and forth once, twice, three times. And then it clicks shut, and the man who threw it is all but squashing it in his hands, a giddy grin across his face. Normally his face would be utterly forgettable, not unlike Lucas Christopher himself, save for the clear eyes that seem almost unbearably cold and the ineffable smugness. 

“Hello, Dean,” he says, the smile not leaving his face. “You might not know me. I sure do know you.” That smile goes wider and wider; Dean’s seen jack-o-lanterns look less macabre. “And I’ve been keeping an eye on little Castiel here. Or should I say, because he’s so much more _valuable_ this way, Latios.”

Like Zachariah, Dean’s seen this douchebag on television before. He’s pretty sure he’s a regular on the channels where they talk about business – boring shit – or adding his two cents to the news stations that lean conservative, banging the table with utter elation on his face and an expression Dean’s never really liked. At least Dean’s got a reason to dislike him now. 

“Dick Roman. You probably know me. Unlike your boyfriend, I don’t care much for anonymity.” Shit, this is a big fucking deal. Roman’s not just some conservative commentator gushing over a flat tax, he’s a major businessman. Dean’s worked with Bobby when he was helping design buildings for Roman’s company, and he always demanded that they be bigger, bigger, bigger. _Definitely compensating for something_ , Bobby used to say, and Rufus would tell him he was being horrible before chortling along with him. 

Dean doesn’t let fear cross his face, though. “You think just because you’re some big shot you’ve got the power here? Wouldn’t count on it.” 

“Oh, I don’t _think_ that,” Roman says. “I know it. And now with Giratina _and_ Latios on our side? Other legendary Pokemon haven’t been reported in a couple of years, and who knows if it was really them or just deranged rantings. They’re a foolproof asset.”

Dean’s not sure how to respond, until something _snaps_ in him. All that _asset_ talk, the greed in his eyes and his words, like that’s what matters. He launches himself toward Roman, until he’s got that rich jackass pinned on the ground. Dean’s hands are scrambling right for that Poke Ball, that fucking Poke Ball, his _Castiel_ – 

Suddenly he’s hauled up as easily as if he were one of those Substitute dolls. His legs kick in the air, but they don’t feel like they belong to him any more. He’s too caught in the moment, like the walls of Mt. Coronet have suddenly narrowed in and forced him here, and simultaneously completely detached. Desolately, he wonders if that’s what Cas feels like right now, if he’s even aware he’s Cas any more.

There’s a roar from right beneath him, and Dean looks down to see his captor. It’s a Snorlax, but not a Snorlax like any Dean’s seen. They’re docile and _sleepy_ things; sometimes they cause trouble when they decide to fall asleep in front of important roads, and someone’s gotta wake them up. 

This Snorlax has needle teeth and a too-alert face. Dean really doesn’t like the red, squiggly veins he can see in those eyes of his. This is no natural Snorlax. But he doesn’t have much time to think about it, because he it _launches_ him into the floor. He doesn’t scream when it happens; at least he doesn’t scream. He finds himself choking on a mouthful of cave dirt anyway. 

That’s when _Vaporeon_ screams, and rushes over to his side. _Get up, get up_ , he thinks, but his body isn’t listening. All the nerves in there are on protest in shock, apparently. He gets toed over – literally, Dick Roman pushes him over to his other side with his foot, and it’s easily the most humiliating experience of his goddamn life – by what must be Dick’s super expensive loafers. 

“I _suggest_ you get out of here,” Roman booms. The volume of his voice is completely unnecessary, considering that they’re still close. “The pretty redhead, we know about her too. Lucas was nice out of some misguided loyalty to family. The rest of us won’t be so _nice_.”

Dean’s left on the floor, Vaporeon nudging at his shoulder to check and see if he’s still _alive_ , for far longer than he’d like to admit. Then, he gets up, by sheer force of will. He starts moving through the cave again, sluggish, woozy, with a limp.

They’re not winning this, Dean realizes. His heart doesn’t have anywhere lower to sink; it might as well have ruptured all over the floor already. All he can do is keep fucking fighting. 

He rushes off to help Lily. Her Starmie and a Cloyster are engaged in a vicious battle. Starmie whirls and whirls, going fast enough to slice into the Cloyster’s shell, but the Cloyster snaps back, trying to swallow the Starmie whole. Dean’s moving fast as he can, which explains why he practically trips over the girl in dark clothes crouched by where the wall of the cave meets the floor.

There’s an enormous Granbull by the girl in the corner, his fists clenched tight and gargantuan jaws snapping over and over, as if he’s single-handedly determined to prove Fairy-type Pokemon can be scary as shit too. Dean is more shocked than scared, once he realizes the situation. That Granbull won’t be a Granbull for much longer. 

Sure enough, after Dean fixes his stare on him, Granbull’s pink fur evaporates to black, and he shrinks. He transforms back into what he really is, a much smaller Pokemon that still bares its teeth and guards its owner ferociously. Delta looks up at Dean, an unreadable expression on her face.

“What the hell are you doing here,” he heaves out. Tessa and Jody had tried to get in touch with her after their kidnapping from the nursery, to no avail. God, Dean had _seen_ her there. 

Delta’s eyes are enormous. “I helped bring Lucas back, with Abaddon.” Dean blinks at how upfront the admission is, before fury sweeps through his body. “We had the powers. It was me. I never thought it would turn out this way –” 

“You knew about this?” He’s trying to keep his voice steady. He’s really, really trying.

“Abaddon and I go way back,” Delta explains. Great, the chick whose boots were on a first-name basis with his stomach is also apparently on a first-name basis with Delta. “We were _roommates_ in college at Edlund. We’re _friends_. I thought she was going too far lately, sure, training her Tentacruel way too much in centers with terrible reputations, but she’s my friend, I’m not going to _say_ anything –”

Dean doesn’t much care for being polite in this moment. “You damn well should have.”

“She said this could make me _great_. I’ve kinda always hung out in the background, in case you didn’t notice.”

“This ain’t the way,” Dean says, voice low and practically deadly. “You wanna be great, you keep being who you are. Or _were_ , I guess. I dunno if you were ever that person. I saw someone who cared about Pokemon, and the people she knew even if she had a funny way of showing it, not only their own hide.” 

Delta’s quiet at that. Too quiet.

“You know Anna? Cas’ sister, picked him up at work sometimes? Tall, red hair, got his eyes?” Delta nods, curtly. “Go find her. We’ll talk about what the hell’s gonna happen if we all get out of this once we’re back to Opelucid. And Delta?”

“Yeah?” 

“Find some better friends.” 

Delta and Zorua hustle off into the darkness in search of Anna. It’s oddly fitting how easily they disappear into it. 

“ _Breeeee_ ,” Vaporeon trills, pacing near Dean’s feet. He might’ve been pissed, but he’s got nothing on Vaporeon, who’s snarling in a way Dean’s rarely seen from her before. Vaporeon was pretty friendly with Zorua; they chased each other around while Dean and Delta were busy.

“I know,” Dean sighs. Latios’ form, so completely perfect for flying, swoops by overhead. He glides, unfettered by everything, little more alive than an impeccable model airplane. Dean could puke. “Gotta get our frustration out somewhere, right?” 

With Dean’s words, Vaporeon faces forward. Twenty feet in the distance, there’s a line of enemy Pokemon attacking the group Dean came with – at least, until they all get upended at their feet by Vaporeon’s Aqua Jet attack that streaks its way across the floor of the cavern. She looks a bit cheered up by that. At least one of us is, Dean figures.

He roars through the cavern, a man practically possessed. Vaporeon keeps shooting wary looks back at him, but he commands her, over and over again: _Hydro Pump. Ice Beam. Water Gun. Aqua Jet. Acid Armor._ Like a prayer. Like it could bring Cas back to him. 

“Dean! _Dean!_ ” 

He remembers himself at Charlie’s words, and turns around to face her. She’s carrying her Vulpix, absolutely wilted in her arms. His fur is soaked, and he’s shivering at an unnatural pace. Out of commission. 

“We tried,” Charlie says, voice quavering with tears. “We really tried, he’s just – he’s not a _fighter_ , Dean, you know that –” 

“It’s okay, Charlie, it’s okay,” Dean tells her, even though that’s the last thing it is right now. He cradles her head to his chest best he can, trying to gain any warmth he can from the moment. He feels Vulpix quivering against his stomach. 

“And Cas…” 

“We’re not – we’re not gonna talk about that,” Dean interrupts. 

“What a lovely display,” comes a cold purr from their side. Dean already recognizes the voice, but he raises his head to look anyway. Abaddon. Great. 

“This is serious shit,” Charlie tells her in a voice sewn through with steel. “You want your wish fulfillment, fine, look, I of all people get it. But this is _not_ what you want to use to get it.”

“Charlie,” Abaddon chuckles, “I obviously have a soft spot for redheads, so I’ll destroy you last. And I’ll give you this advice before I do: you are _scared_. You can claim you don’t care about power all you want, but I know that’s a vicious lie from anyone, sweetheart. You’re just afraid of it.”

“You guys and your speeches are too goddamn much,” Dean butts in. Abaddon’s eyes flash in irritation. “Crowing about power. That’s how you get it? Having your Tentacruel pick on a damn Vulpix that never trained for battle? Sweetheart, you’re not some great source of power. You’re a _bully_.” 

Abaddon crosses her hand over her heart in mock-insult. “Is that how you spoke to _my best friend_ Delta?” Dean just glares right back. “Fine. No, beating one tiny, pathetic Vulpix –” Charlie makes a broken sound in her throat – “is not how I got my power.”

“Beating up kids more your style?” Dean asks. 

“You really shouldn’t tempt me,” Abaddon says, her tone breezy and infuriating. “I got my power through hard work. You saw Dick Roman’s Snorlax? You ever see a Snorlax like that before? That’s the result of my tinkering. Some Pokerus – imagine that, a virus that makes Pokemon _stronger_ – and some other things I could throw together, and bam. A natural aggressor. I overrode millennia of breeding not to seriously harm humans, or other Pokemon either, with a little cocktail I mixed up one afternoon.”

Dean keeps flicking his eyes over to Abaddon’s Tentacruel, blankly floating in mid-air. He’s _still_ got a bad feeling about this.

“Charlie, get outta here,” he says, and with one last regretful look, she bolts, still carrying Vulpix. Dean turns his attention to Abaddon. “It worked, I’ll give you that,” he says to her, casual like his entire body doesn’t sing with the ache of getting slammed into the ground. “Why wouldn’t you go legit?”

“ _Legit_ doesn’t pay like Dick Roman does. It doesn’t let you march alongside it like Lucas Christopher does. You’ve asked too many questions, and now it’s too late,” Abaddon says. Objectively and everything, she’s a beautiful woman, but her smile makes her look nothing but ghoulish. It’s not a good look. “Tentacruel, Sludge Wave!” 

Dean has a flash of hope that Tentacruel could resist. Pokemon, even those who have been with their trainers for a very long time, aren’t mindless automatons, even the mechanical ones like the Magnemite and Klink family. They know right from wrong, and as someone who’s known a lotta Pokemon and a lotta humans alike, Dean can say they’re better at it than most of humanity. 

But then he remembers all the fucked-up experiments, the Missingno that attacked them just for trying to access those files, and of course Tentacruel can’t resist. Right now, he’s little more than a puppet, and one that’s trained to kill. 

A huge purple wave arises out of nowhere. Dean’s been leading Vaporeon through the floor, but by now she’s pretty damn tuckered out. The Hydro Pumps that were once enormous geysers, that _saved_ him and all his friends from a catastrophic fall, now require much more charging, and the spouts are much weaker. This gush of poisoned water is so much stronger than anything Vaporeon’s been serving up in the past few minutes; Tentacruel’s been fighting just as long. 

Abaddon did a good job. A _deadly_ good job.

Wearily, Vaporeon summons up one more Hydro Pump. It’s bigger than they have been the past few minutes, a good sign, but all that happens is Tentacruel’s advancing wave swallow it right up. The blue and white of the water shatters against the fetid purple of the poison. Now it’s Dean’s turn to dive, trying to shove Vaporeon out of the way – he’s never, not ever, used this much force against her – but she doesn’t budge.

She slips out of his grip and stands right in the way of the wave of poison. And then that purple poison gulps down Vaporeon.

Dean screams. He dives right back down, around where he thought she went, and finds nothing. Droplets hit his skin, fizzling, and son of a bitch that _hurts_. Long rivulets streak the floor of the cave, and Dean keeps crawling, crawling, crawling, shredding the knees on his jeans and the skin on his palms until he gets to the source of the liquid.

If he doesn’t look up, it won’t be real. It can’t be real.

He looks up anyway.

The poison didn’t dissolve anything on her body. At least there’s that. But in the end, it’s absolutely no consolation at all, as Vaporeon’s body sloshes back and forth in the foamy pools the poison left behind. Those pools are so pale now, they could be water. She _was_ the water, and now she’s nothing but limp and still and cold. 

And gone. 

The fight’s still going on all around him. He sees it, flashes of light and big bulky Pokemon bodies whizzing too close. He can even _smell_ where the attacks of Electric Pokemon struck the ground or the rock walls of the mountains. Right now, he doesn’t care any more. He’s hoping one of those lightning bolts misses and hits him square in the chest.

Latios flies overhead. Just what Dean needs. He can’t even think of him as Cas any more, because he’s not. He’s gone too. He moves so smoothly, so even, upending Dean’s allies as he moves. In Latios’ wake, an Espeon goes flying, hitting the wall and managing to bounce back as he squeaks pathetically.

An Espeon. Shit. 

Dean turns around, looking to help Sam. The instant Sam sees him, he lights up, but then his viewpoint drops down to the body Dean has cradled in his arms and that shine dulls immediately. Sam rushes over. 

“Dean, oh my God, Dean –”

Dean tunes him out. It’s not because what he’s saying is wrong, he just – he can’t handle this, not now. Sammy always had that stupidly earnest face, and he doesn’t deserve that comfort or sympathy, not after what he let happen.   
Instead, he looks down. There’s Vaporeon’s sister at Sam’s feet. She’s still ready to fight, but she’s clearly hurting, and matted with dirt. Espeon always appeared larger than she really was, because of her ineffable psychic aura. But now, she looks so small, so goddamn delicate, and her face is wet like she’s the one who went swimming. 

Dean can’t handle that either, so he stares into the cradle of his arms. Vaporeon’s body fits there so easy. God, how many times had he shooed her off his lap? She should have never saved him with that geyser, she should have gone running, she should have saved her own ass. Couldn’t have been more than an hour ago. Seems like another life. 

The fight’s slowing down and thinning out. Lucas slinked off a while ago, and most of his followers went with him. A few of them are left, fighting the people who came with Dean. 

Latios skims through the air. There’s no serious, determined bent to his brow, like there was when he was Cas. He glides by on autopilot. It’s easy and smooth and beautiful to see and it makes Dean want to fucking hurl. At that moment, Dick Roman chooses to call Cas back to his Poke Ball – just thinking it rattles Dean even more – and vanish with the rest of Lucas’ followers. He doesn’t know where they’re going, but it can’t be anywhere good.

“We have to follow them.” It’s Anna, back as herself. She’s a fucking mess, her hair sprung from her ponytail and wild like it served as Pidgeot’s nest. Long dirty streaks arrow down her face. “I – I don’t know what to say, Dean.” 

“There’s nothin’ _to_ say.” He tries to smile, he really does, but it’s like his muscles have forgotten the emotion entirely and atrophied. 

So he takes her hand. She squeezes hard. It’s not like Cas at all; she’s got spindly fingers, and her grip doesn’t linger, it’s quick and then gone.

But then she’s taking Sam’s hand too, and there’s a deep whoosh in Dean’s gut, and when he opens his eyes he has to squint against the bright light that greets him.


	8. Chapter 8

When they touch down on the soft land, a plateau outside Opelucid, Dean registers, distantly, that there’s a crowd gathered. They left a bunch of people behind when they headed to Coronet, because the mission was too dangerous, but this group is much larger than those they left behind. He sees Jody, who grins wide when Dean comes into view, only to have her expression all but collapse when she sees what Dean’s got in his arms. He also hazily notices Tracy standing _next to_ that Thaddeus douche, who’s sporting a bandage on his nose and a blooming purple bruise around his eye.

Naomi is there, too, stark as ever. There’s a large space around her, like she built an actual physical barrier there.

None of that matters. 

“Oh my God,” Naomi breathes when Dean walks by, a quiver in her voice. There’s legitimate horror on her normally placid face; he hasn’t ever seen her this shaky. 

He wants to think _good_ , but he’s too drained to be spiteful. It’s not even the slimmest of bandaids for his grief, and he knows that. All he says is “Excuse me” instead, and he disappears into a small shack a little ways beyond the crowd.

Once inside, Dean drops to his knees, sets Vaporeon – no, Vaporeon’s _body_ , he can’t ever say _Vaporeon_ ever again – in front of him, and fucking loses it. 

That’s the only words for it, because he moves so quickly, and so on instinct, that he’s got no idea what the hell he’s doing He knows he’s punching a wall until it splinters and fucks up his hand, until the wall’s blurring red, and he knows there are tears all over his face, but he seems so entirely distant from it all. He can’t be in this little shack, no more than a crappy _outhouse_ for fuck’s sake, while his Pokemon lies dead on the floor. He can’t be. 

Vaporeon was the one constant in Dean’s life, the one thing that never left him. The one thing he knew – thought – he would never lose. He got her just two weeks after Mary died, when he was still shocked into mute grief. Sam had scooped up his Eevee from Dad and clutched at her desperately, practically chanting _thank you thank you thank you_ because he was too young and, at the time, dumb to know that it wasn’t actually a _good_ situation.

Dean hadn’t said anything. He just picked her up and held her far away from him. She curled around his neck and chest anyway, and he’d been surprised at how warm she was. Even when he evolved her, and she was all scales and slick skin, she still had that warmth. Dean suspects she could’ve ended up a Glaceon, and it would’ve been the same. 

That first night, while she slept in a little makeshift bed that the shelter had made for her, Dean got out his first words in weeks. “Hey, girl.” His voice had been raspy with disuse, but she’d turned to him and offered the most human, sad smile Dean had ever seen. That was all it took, and she was family. 

She stuck with him. She saw him at his worst, time and time again, and leaving wasn’t even a question. Pokemon were bred throughout generations to be loyal, but they weren’t stupid either, and survival instincts always won out. There were plenty of stories of Pokemon bolting from terrible trainers and awful situations. That never once happened with her.

He remembers the first couple of times they went to Castelia City before it became old hat. Dean wasn’t gonna show it, but he was intimidated as hell. Cities were one thing, but Castelia was crowded enough that you had to squeeze between the buildings. You’d get smacked in the face by teeming humanity rushing down the street if you let your guard down, just for an instant. 

The Pokemon only added to the chaos. It was impossible to tell which ones were runaway or wild and which ones actually had owners, because they darted across streets with seemingly little regard for their own safety. Dean, Sam, and John, not used to Castelia’s pace, almost tripped over the rushing Pokemon way too many times.

It would’ve been not only easy but totally understandable for Vaporeon to make a break for it. She wouldn’t have even been running away, she would have been joining in with the rest of the Pokemon. Instead, she stayed close to Dean’s side. That night, she insisted on sleeping next to him, when lately she’d been staunchly keeping off the bed. 

She was still as warm as she’d ever been, it turned out.

And Cas. Cas, there wasn’t even words for it. He’d known Vaporeon for decades, and he’d known Cas for less than a year, but Dean had come to have twin places in his heart for the two of them. John told him never to fall too fast, but with Cas it wasn’t even falling.

It wasn’t destiny, because fuck destiny. It just felt inevitable. Cas was so warm, and so tender and earnest, and touched him so carefully, Dean didn’t understand how the whole world didn’t fall in love with him. But no, only Dean got that. Got the love of his damn life. 

That’s what Dean had lost.

There’s a knock at the door, weirdly scratchy. “I’ll be out!” Dean hollers, even though he’s got no fucking clue when he’ll want to leave this stupid tiny shack. Give him a couple of millennia. He hears the door creak open and whirls around, preparing to scream his head off, but what he sees renders him totally silent.

It’s not Naomi. It’s not Charlie. It’s not Anna. It’s not even Sam.

It’s _Staraptor_ , her head held high like always. And _shit_ , Dean hardly even thought about her since Cas got captured, and Vaporeon – but here she is, shuffling toward him on her big clumsy bird feet. 

Once she gets up to Dean, he finds himself crumpling down again so that he can hug her. She’s shaking in his arms, twitching like she flew face-first into a live wire. 

Dean’s pretty sure Staraptor, as a species, don’t have tear ducts. But he knows that if Staraptor had them, she’d be worse off than he is. Since the moment he met her, when she saved his ass with plenty of flair, he’s been incredibly intimidated; nothing phased her, nothing even seemed to make her react in a way beyond mild to extreme annoyance. Here she is now, though, trying her best to wrap her wings around Dean and hold on.

That’s when Dean knows he’s gotta get the fuck out of the shack. His life might have cracked the fuck open and spilled out, but there are still others out there. Cas wanted nothing more than to have the people who were hurting _stop_ , and Dean wanted nothing more than that too.

He’ll fight for Charlie and Benny, his friends who’ll still manage to have a smile for him despite everything if they make it out of this alive. He’ll fight for Anna, who’s lost so much too. He’ll fight for Claire and Tracy and Nancy and even the oblivious kids over at Carver, so that they _have_ a future. He’ll fight for Sam, because as it turned out, he never gave up either.

He’ll fight for Cas. He’ll fight for Vaporeon. He’ll fight for Staraptor, because she’s still here.

Dean pulls Staraptor away, but only a bit, until she’s arm’s length from him. “Come on,” he urges. “This is tough, I know it’s tough, but we gotta –”

She nods, the serious look back on her face. Dean ducks her into one last hug, puts his hand on Vaporeon’s too-still form, and then leaves the little shack with Staraptor perched on his shoulder.

Her talons hurt like a motherfucker. Feeling fresh pain, _physical_ pain, is a shock.

When he walks out, it seems like half the people waiting there wrench their eyes away from the shack. They’re clearly trying to pretend that they weren’t very pointedly waiting for him to emerge from the shack as a total mess.

He _is_ a total mess. He’s just always been spectacular at hiding it.

“You alright?” Sam and his stupidly puppyish face, of course.

Dean’s able to bark out an acrid laugh. “Not at all,” he admits. “But I’m gonna go fight anyway.” 

He doesn’t know if it’s what Cas or Vaporeon would have wanted. But it’s what they would have done. It’s what _Mom_ would have done. And ultimately, that’s why it was never going to be a question from the moment he got back to Opelucid. 

Sam keeps looking at him, so _concerned_ , and if Dean was in a better mood he’d laugh and tell him and his big puppy eyes to fuck off, but right now – it sinks in that Sam’s all he’s got left. Dad died, but this was where they ended up after all. Fuck.

Only – no, that isn’t it. Dean has his own home now; he has real friends. When he was on the road with Sam and Dad, all he had was his brother, and that relationship was so mixed up in his dad’s orders to _take care of Sammy_ that he all but forbade Sam from taking any care of him. 

Not that he was too good at doing that for Sam, either. Watch out that no one kicked his ass in a fight, sure, even when Sam had a full-grown Espeon and insisted on getting involved at the gym. Actually talk to him about his problems? Nah. Then he was gone, off to Carver, and it was too late.

Or maybe it’s not. If they survive this, there’s going to be not just a city but a whole damn continent, maybe the world, to clean up. There’s going to be lots of time to get to know his brother again. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Dean admits. Sam’s face brightens quickly as someone snapping their fingers, and Dean can’t help but roll his eyes at it. “Alright, alright. Don’t get sappy on me.”

On the field below, a phalanx clad all in dark colors marches toward Opelucid City. Almost every kind of Pokemon is represented, but there’s an overabundance of Dragon-types. The smattering of Salamence and Dragonite and Garchomp in the crowd is intimidating, sure, but less so when there’s a fucking Giratina rolling above all their heads. And of course, Latios glides right beside him. While there’s an unnatural glint to Giratina’s eyes, and a tiny smirk poking his mouth at the corners, there’s no expression on Latios’ face. 

Might as well have built a Latios robot, for all they’re getting out of him. He’s nothing more than a husk right now. Dean remembers Cas, his small smiles, his warmth, his deadpan sense of humor. His determination.

“Let’s do this,” he mutters to Staraptor on his shoulder, voice still shaking while he does it. She lets out one long caw, loud enough to shake the branches on the trees.

They rush into battle.

Dean’s first thought is that there’s already a whole hell of a lot going on. Most of the people seem to be on their side, but there’s still way too many nasty-looking smiles on the faces of masses dressed all in black. They remind Dean of the people Rowena and Crowley had working at the nursery. 

They’ve got their own Pokemon, but when Dean moves forward to join the battle against them, he notices – oh God, no. These battlers in particular didn’t just _look_ like the goons from the nursery, they probably _were_ the goons from the nursery, because they’ve surrounded themselves with a circle of Cubone. 

These little guys are practically babies. Half of them can’t really walk; they stagger around in wobbly circles until they collapse on the ground, their overly big and bone-heavy heads anchoring them there. Their arms and legs wiggle pathetically.

And Dean thought he couldn’t feel any worse.

That heartbreak’s shattered by a wave of utter _bile_. Dean could laugh at these assholes when they were nothing but a bunch of pathetic, power-hungry sycophants in nicer clothes than he’d ever own. Now they’re fucking murderers. They’re _using_ orphaned baby Pokemon. Any word in Dean’s vocabulary, from _repulsive_ to _abhorrent_ to good ol’ _douchebags_ and _motherfuckers_ , seems way too complimentary. 

“Don’t attack the Cubone!” Dean howls out, even if his voice is already worn down. “Don’t –” But most of the people with him have rushed off to the heat of battle, leaving him behind. Dean recognizes what he has to do, nods to himself, and scoops up three of the baby Cubone in his arms. “Staraptor, try and hold ‘em off!” He’s sure she will. If anyone could give her owner a good fight in terms of tenaciousness, it was Staraptor.

He’s halfway up the hill to the safe area, when he realizes there’s someone hot on his heels. He wheels around, clutching the Cubone to protect them, but that protection isn’t necessary. It’s Amy, who’s carrying the rest of the babies up the hill with him. 

“I couldn’t just leave them behind,” she offers up, almost sheepish. “Sam got Alakazam and he’s battling up ahead.” She tied her hair back, but long wisps of it are sneaking out and drifting into her face. If Dean didn’t already like this chick, he’d outright love her now. Definitely way out of Sam’s league.

Dean can understand Flagstaff staying back with Claire, Tracy, Nancy, and the other kids he recognizes; after all, if someone on the wrong side found their way back here, he’d want the younger kids to have someone to guard them, especially someone trained as a guard. He’s even sort of smug to see Thaddeus among them, his Hawlucha keeping a keen eye on the battlefield as a lookout. Tough guy wannabe. 

What he can’t understand is Naomi sitting back with them. At least they’ve all but froze her out, sitting with their backs to her. Gothitelle hovers by her side, but as always, she’s quiet.

“I don’t even want to leave these little guys here with you,” Dean admits to Naomi. It’s cruel, but it’s been a tough fucking day. Instead, he leaves them under Flagstaff’s watch, who just nods to him and quickly engages the Cubone in a game of fetch, offering them nice big treats when they come back to her. 

“Cas,” Naomi calls out as Dean’s heading away. He ignores it at first, not out of malice this time but because he figures she must be confused, and because the name swells grief inside him. “Cas would still fight for me, wouldn’t he.”

Dean stands at the crest of the hill. He feels awful, stalling up here while all the action’s going on below. At least he can catch the flash of Staraptor’s white feathers and red crest barrel into a Shiftry. The thing stands no chance and falls to the ground in a heap of leaves. 

“Cas wanted freedom,” Dean gets out, at last. “We saw one of your guys, one of his brothers, Thaddeus, attack that Tracy girl right there, and he felt bad for not only her, but him too, because he got how Thaddeus grew up. He just didn’t want anyone to hurt any more.” 

Dean feels, bizarrely enough, sheepish. He meant to answer a question, not turn this into fucking _Braveheart_.

“I wanna fight.” Claire breaks the silence. Her Noibat practically bounces in mid-air next to her, wearing a pretty impressive glare of his own.

Tracy stands up and dusts off her jeans. “I’m with Claire. I didn’t go on the damn lam to sit it out when the actual fighting came along.” 

Dean looks at the two girls, wearing twin expressions on their faces. He can’t stand the fact that he’s sending them into battle, just like his dad did to him, only the stakes here are way higher. “You girls know what you’re getting into?” He points at a distant figure in the sky. This far away, it’s murky, but it’s got the distinct wings and ears of a Noivern. “There are some fully evolved Noivern out there in this battle, Claire. A lot of them. I’m sure your Noibat’s real good, but are you ready to take them on?” 

The two of them nod. Tracy’s Rampardos glowers at Dean from over her shoulder, practically daring him to not let them go. 

“Go,” Dean says after a long beat. They hustle off, and Dean’s struck by how they’re thrilled to rush off into the heat of potentially deadly battle. Kids these days. “Find someone you know! Stick with them!” 

Nancy’s still sitting up on the hill. She’s shuffling her feet, inching closer to Aurorus. When Dean looks at her, she averts her eyes, embarrassed. 

“Nancy,” Dean says, and even though her cheeks are clearly pinking, she looks up at him. “It’s – it’s okay to stay behind too.”

Her flush deepens, but then it fades. “Thanks,” she says, and it’s quiet but genuine. Aurorus nods too, his skin sparkling in the sun whenever he moves. 

Dean looks back to the group gathered on the hill, just to nod at Flagstaff in recognition of her guarding the rest of the younger people and the non-fighters. What he finds, instead, is Naomi, pulling off her heels and unbuttoning her stiff suit jacket to reveal a plain navy blue shirt, even if it’s one made of fancy material.

“You’re right,” he hears her say as she passes him, so low Dean wonders if he was meant to hear it. “Cas was right, Anna’s right –” But then she’s off into the fray, Gothitelle trailing her silently, and he can’t hear her well any more.

Dean jumps back down to join them. Even without someone commanding her, Staraptor swoops down in swift violent arc, scratching the hell out of enemies or snipping at them with her beak. The goons tend to have several Pokemon each, but they’re not well-trained or particularly listening to their trainer. Maybe Abaddon’s _experiments_ didn’t always work so well.

A Graveler keeps trying to hurl boulders at Staraptor. But he takes forever to dig them out of the ground, and what he pulls up are more small rocks than impressive boulders, and she dodges them easily. Once she’s done dealing with a couple of Fearow and Scyther that took to the air in a poor attempt to take her out, Staraptor hones in on Graveler. He tries to flee, but it’s no avail. A metal sheen spreads over the tips of her wings so she can attack him with a Steel Wing, but she takes it relatively easy and simply clips his carapace. Huge gouges appear on Graveler’s side; he falls over and doesn’t get up. 

Dean could watch Staraptor wail on these guys all day, but the Pokemon and their owners are nothing more than cannon fodder. If the big kahunas, people like Lucas and Roman and Abaddon, wanted them eliminated, they’d be gone in a second. He doesn’t feel bad for them; they made their filthy bed. But he does feel bad for their Pokemon.

“Whirlwind, Staraptor,” he orders. An enormous gust of wind tears through the area, spewing dirt. It’s hard enough to send the passed-out Graveler rolling down the hill. Some of the goons attempt to flee, but it isn’t any use. They practically spray through the air and land with heavy thuds on the ground. Most of them don’t move once they’ve hit the dirt, which brings grim satisfaction to Dean.

“Keep going,” Dean says, to no one in particular. Staraptor sits on his shoulder. She’s heavy and her claws bite into his shoulder even through his shirt, but it’s the most bittersweet weight Dean’s ever felt. 

He moves deeper, into the true throes of battle.

Immediately, he presses his arm over his mouth; much like in Mt. Coronet, all the fighting has kicked up a nasty storm of dirt. Figures emerge out of the dim light and duck right back into it. It seems impossible to fight in these conditions, but there’s enough noise and commotion – and some piercing _screams_ – that Dean knows it’s happening. 

Staraptor takes to the air from Dean’s shoulder. “You don’t have to –” he’s shouting, but she’s practically glowing with the thrill of battle. Every flap of her wings blows the dust out of the way for a few seconds before it creeps right back in, but it gives her an advantage anyway. She wrenches her claws into the hide of a Tyranitar, keeps hold even through the Rock Pokemon uselessly flailing her arms at her, then topples her to the ground. 

“Well damn,” Dean mutters, under his breath. Remind him not to forget that Staraptor was trained in one of the city’s elite Pokemon training centers.

Espeon’s more than holding her own against the horde of crazy strong Dragon-types hounding her. Dean’s damn proud. As he watches, she sends a Salamence sprawling with a Psybeam, rainbow-colored and swirling within the cylindrical shape of the beam like an oil slick. 

She doesn’t miss a beat before she whirls around and starts generating more angry light that spears out, brown slashed through with gold. The Focus Blast makes an ugly _thwack_ when it hits the oncoming Hydreigon – not Lucas’ – right in the gut. That Hydreigon tumbles to the ground, and blinks once, twice, before her triple heads loll on the grass and her eyes fall firmly shut.

“Sammy, Espeon’s doing great!” Dean yells, hoping he can hear him. There’s no sign of Sam, but there’s no real sign of any human other than silhouettes against the swirling dust. Dean tries not to be nervous over that.

Someone rolls up alongside Dean. He’s in a wheelchair now, which is new, along with the dirt rising all around him, which means Dean doesn’t recognize him at first. “Bobby, you son of a bitch!” he exclaims, the words coming out of him like he was punched. “What the hell happened?”

“Some jackasses working for Roman tried to take me out. Said he wasn’t real pleased with the results of my last building. I’m thinkin’ they had other motivations, though.” Bobby’s still grinning, at least, practically whipping himself through the line of battle. He’s certainly moving faster than Dean ever saw Bobby actually _walk_ to get anywhere. “I’ll be fine. I _am_ fine. Arcanine!” 

And there she is, fluff and tiger stripes and _majestic as hell_. Dean never thought he’d see Bobby’s Growlithe like this, but she stampedes into battle a fierce warrior. Flames ignite around her body, and she rushes headlong at enemies. Dean can’t help it; he feels a definite giddy rush.

Bobby was practically family in Village Bridge. But he was also an irascible asshole who had a strange soft spot for Dean and Sam. Growlithe spent most of her time napping and occasionally snapping at someone’s ankles, usually Bobby’s. Even when they all got older, not much changed about any of that. 

Now, though, Bobby’s here with his Growlithe evolved into Arcanine. She’s glorious. Awful things have happened to Bobby, but he’s grinning widely; it seems like he’s _living_ for the first time in a while. 

“Thank you,” is all Dean says instead. He gives Bobby a grin of his own. “Where’s Rufus?”

“’Round somewhere. Can’t see even Avalugg through all this damn dust. Where’s Vaporeon? Love to see her in action out here.”

Dean’s silent for a while, watching Staraptor sky-bomb a couple of spare Swellow and Masquerain out of the air. It’s graceful, even while her wings are spattered with dust. Makes Dean think of nothing more than Vaporeon’s easy water arcs. The area before him blurs, and it ain’t because of the dust. He can’t say anything to Bobby, because he doesn’t know how to put it into words.

Bobby wasn’t John, that’s for sure. But Bobby also wasn’t exactly what you’d call nice, or outwardly supportive. Most of his advice consisted of an only slightly more politely phrased _get over it_. But he cared, and most of the time that’s what Dean needed. That’s what he needs now. Bobby puts out his good hand and offers it up to Dean. 

Dean squeezes back, and moves off further into the crowd. He’s getting toward the edge of the trees, now, and the dust is starting to dissipate into the air and blow toward the trees. It gives Staraptor less of an advantage now, because the enemy’s Pokemon can’t see her, but she’s so agile and flat-out violent she’s still doing well. 

At least until an enormous Dragonite, scales shimmering with opalescence and perspiration alike, swoops in to face her. 

Dean’s seen a few Dragonite around in Opelucid. He thought they were sort of goofy-looking, too cute for a Pokemon with that kind of power, but that was before one of them came barreling right at a Pokemon he cares a hell of a lot about in a critical situation. “Get out of the way!” Dean urges, but the Dragonite’s considerable bulk clips Staraptor in the underside. She goes tumbling through the air and lands twenty feet away, from little more than a nudge.

Alright. So these ain’t the underlings any more. 

“A Staraptor. Like my wayward brother.”

Dean turns around until he’s facing the source of the sound. It’s coming from a tall man in an impeccable suit. He’s dark-haired and looks deathly serious. Good-looking guy, but his face may as well be a plaster mask. There’s no emotion there other than harshness.

“Just like your brother, actually. And you are?”

Dean knows full well that this is Michael. There’s no love lost between him and Cas, Anna, or Hannah. Even Uriel, who’s got a damn good job of his own, who’s very formal, wrinkles his nose and practically hocks a loogy every time he says the name _Michael_. 

He works as some hot-shot city senator, and Zachariah’s more than happy to showcase him as a triumph of his so-called parenting. And now the guy’s working for Lucas’ side. Yeah, he’s a prize. 

Michael bristles at Dean’s question. “My name is Michael Adler.” Zachariah’s last name, not Naomi’s. “City senator. You must not care about politics, if you don’t recognize me. What a shame.”

“Nah. Had plenty of douchebags lie to my face. Why have ‘em lie to me through the television?”

Michael’s Dragonite moves right in to flank him. She’s a gorgeous Pokemon. The sun, filtering through the dust now, glints off her and tints her skin a dappled gold. But her eyes are shiny, cold obsidian; she lacks the natural upward tilt of her mouth most Dragonite have, the feature that makes them look so goofy. 

There’s no doubt that this Dragonite has lived the most privileged lifestyle a Pokemon could. And yet Dean still finds himself feeling bad for her. 

Staraptor stumbles over to him. She clearly took a bad hit from Michael’s Dragonite, but she nudges at his arm in impatience. “You ready to go?” Firmly, she nods her head. “Take Down, then.” 

The two Pokemon take to the air. They circle around each other, two natural predators looking for any kind of opening, any moment they can seize.

They both take it at the same time.

Staraptor’s a bit quicker, so she’s able to fly straight up at the last second, and avoid Dragonite’s body smashing directly into her own. But she still takes another hit to the underbelly that puts a shudder through Dean to see. She squawks in return and swoops low to the ground, her flight path wobbly. This fight can’t end well.

A loud, dismissive snort comes from close to Dean. Surprisingly, it’s not from Michael. “If you’re so proud of it, pick on someone with your level of training, Michael.”

Dean didn’t think he would ever be grateful to hear Gabriel’s voice, but there she is, rushing up out of the dust storm to the incline to where Dean and Michael are fighting, Whimsicott cradled in her arms. The little guy’s smiling, the same tiny happy puff like always. Michael’s Dragonite might be twenty-five times his size. 

“My sister,” Michael says, with something that could resemble a smile if his face wasn’t so frozen. “I heard rumors you were gracing us with your presence once again.”

“Well when it comes to me,” Gabriel counters, “the rumors tend to be true.” She tilts her head a bit. “How you doing, Michael?” Dean’s surprised at how genuine she sounds. Wistful, even.

“Do you really think this is the time for a family reunion?”

“No,” Gabe agrees, “but I’ve never been too appropriate. And maybe I’ve just been trying to lull you into a false sense of security.” Whimsicott hops out of her arms and jumps into midair, where he spins around and around, keeping himself buoyant. “Moonblast!”

“Extremespeed!” 

Whimsicott has to poof out of the way of the barreling Dragonite, who makes no contact but swoops around in a perfect loop to face Whimsicott again.

“Staraptor,” Dean whispers. “Do you wanna –” He cuts himself off when he realizes the sky’s going dark in their little section of the battle. That’s when Whimsicott starts to glow, a ridiculous neon pink that shoots through the fibers in his mane. 

The screaming pink light grows and grows, until Whimsicott is swallowed by it, his tiny round shape gone and replaced with nothing but a large orb. Dean has to avert his eyes from it, but before he does, he sees even Dragonite staring emptily at the light.

“Come on,” Michael urges, not raising his voice at all, but Dragonite doesn’t move.

It happens in a flash – literally. The pink light bursts from Whimsicott’s figure, smashing into Dragonite. At the moment of contact, it turns into silver spheres that go skidding across Dragonite’s hide, looking like new shiny coins. They bounce across her flesh a few times, jolting, irregular, until they crash into her skin again.

Dragonite stays in the air for a few seconds after that, careening back and forth. Dean could tell she’s an impeccably well-trained Pokemon, after all, and he doubted Whimsicott was as strong as she was. But Whimsicott had the major type advantage, and Dragonite had already took damage in the battle. She thuds to the ground right in front of Michael, eyes falling shut as she faints. 

“ _No!_ ” Michael screams, furious, something ugly broken open in him. He slams to his knees, shaking Dragonite’s form. She doesn’t budge. 

Dean watches for a beat, until he hears Gabriel’s voice behind him. Now, she’s the unflappable one. “Let’s go.” 

They team up together; as it turns out, they’re really good at it, which is more than a bit terrifying to think about. Whimsicott rides on Staraptor’s back, cartwheeling off only to sprinkle powder over enemy Pokemon. While those enemies wander around, discombobulated, Staraptor swoops in and beats them into submission, slamming some of the opponent Pokemon into the dirt with her wings. 

“You don’t mess around,” Dean murmurs to Staraptor. He allows himself a moment of stroking her long, sleek feathers. She nudges into his hand, and it’s something like a comfort. 

“Damn good at this,” Gabriel says. She’s not one for compliments, and Dean’s not one for accepting them, so he just nods. “If I were at _all_ into dudes, I’d say I see what my brother sees in you. Other than the considerable looks. Objectively speaking –”

“Stop.”

For once, Gabriel does. Then, a few minutes later, she mutters something again. “We’re gonna get him back,” she nearly whispers, voice dropped almost a whole register and serious. “ _You’re_ gonna get him back again. I know it.”

The dust and dirt overhead is starting to settle on the ground a bit; it crunches under Dean’s boots. He can see blue sky for the first time in a while. Latios hovers there, too, zipping in and out of scrums on the battlefield. It seizes Dean’s heart to see him. 

_Cas, man,_ Dean thinks, _you can’t hear me. You’re not even really you right now. But you’re coming back to me. You are._

Of course, he’s broken out of his thoughts by none other than a very loud shout from Gabriel.

He’s scared of who or _what_ could make that noise come out of Gabriel’s mouth, but for once, his fears are misplaced. A goddamn gorgeous Rapidash with an easy gait hustles up the hill. Other Pokemon attempt to attack him, but it’s futile; his fire mane whips out and smacks them away, and he continues up the hill, completely undeterred. 

The Rapidash’s owner makes her way up the hill much more slowly, though Rapidash keeps looking backward, eyes wide and concerned. Dean finds it kind of stupidly sweet. Her owner’s wearing a long kurti in brash red and pink and gold, not much of a fighting outfit, but there’s a long streak of dirt down the side of her face and she’s glistening with sweat.

“Thought you said you never wanted to see me again,” Gabriel says to the newcomer. Dean recognizes her tone because it’s the one he speaks in far too often, that false bravado.

“I like the world, as it turns out,” the other woman says. “And I like some of the people in it.”

“You mean –”

“ _Don’t_ flatter yourself.” She pauses, and smiles. “But yes.” 

“Kali,” Gabriel says, the word full of such naked sentiment it shocks Dean. Gabriel leans forward and kisses the hell out of Kali. Seriously, Dean’s pretty sure he can see tongue. When Gabriel moves away, she’s grinning in a wide and completely uninhibited way. The dirt’s mostly caked on her face now, but she shows no sign of caring about that.

Meanwhile, Whimsicott is keeping himself afloat in order to chatter to Rapidash. Rapidash keeps knocking his horn against Whimsicott’s side; neither of them minds the flames from Rapidash’s mane. Both Pokemon chase each other in a tiny circle, loud and obvious peals of laughter coming from the two of them. 

There’s one hell of a story here, Dean can tell. But it’s for another time.

Gabriel’s standing on her tiptoes now, peering out at the distance. She breaks out of Kali’s embrace – it’s funny to see the two of them standing there, Kali statuesque and Gabriel short as hell – to motion her forward. “Help me fight my douchey sister,” she urges. Wildly waving, she moves down the hill. “Long time no see, dickwad!” 

“Always so charming, little sister,” Raphael says. While Gabriel’s a stubby little thing with messy hair and a slouchy jacket, Raphael is immaculate. Her suit fits perfectly. She’s walking through the battlefield on heels, easily. Not a speck of dirt mars her immaculate white shirt. 

An Altaria hovers by her side. Normally, the big guys are kinda cute, floating on their big cotton clouds. They’re the rare Dragon-type that Opelucid doesn’t obsess over, even though stuffed Altaria toys are pretty popular among kids. But Raphael’s Altaria is as stately and serious as Raphael herself, with a heavy bent to her brow and a serenity that plays as outright chilly.

“I don’t have time for jokes, Gabriel,” Raphael continues. “We’re adults here. It’s time _someone_ started acting like it. Altaria, Aerial Ace.”

“Whimsicott, Sleep Powder!” Gabriel calls out, in counterpoint.

Whimsicott, though, is just a beat too slow. Most of it lands on Altaria’s fluffy cloud, where it’s harmlessly absorbed. Altaria raises her wings up high, cloudy and puffy like the rest of her body, and zooms right up to Whimsicott. She pauses for a moment, like she’s recognized Whimsicott, but then she’s barreling into him. Whimsicott collapses. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Gabriel snarls, gathering Whimsicott up in her arms. “You guys – you keep fighting. Maybe someone bought a Revive. I’ll see if I can get help.” 

Dean doesn’t know Kali at all, but he nods at her, and their Pokemon head out together. The two of them make a damn good team. Kali’s Rapidash rampages through the meadow, his fire lighting up the dim path in front of him. Pokemon catch sight of him only to go sprawling with the impact of his body slamming into theirs the next moment. Staraptor follows Rapidash’s bright trail, picking off Pokemon in his wake.

“Doing great!” Dean calls out, because he can’t see Kali anywhere.

Of course, that’s when someone, unseen in the chaos of the fighting and the dust cloud still thick in this area, all but wrenches his arm out of its damn socket and drags him onto the ground.

Dean should be faster and more alert than this, he should be, he can hear his dad screaming at him in his head, but he’s bogged down by everything that’s happened today, so instead of getting the hell up off the ground he finds himself staring down the business end of a Magmortar’s fire cannons.

They fire. The enormous blaze launches toward Dean. He needs to get his ass in gear, but he’s not fucking moving.

A Pokemon leaps in front of him and takes the blast.

Until she hits the ground, Dean can’t make out what Pokemon it was. He was expecting Staraptor, or in his wildest dreams, Latios or even Vaporeon. He wouldn’t have guessed _this_ Pokemon in a thousand years. She’s part Bug and part Steel, so there isn’t a worse possible move for her than eating up a Fire-type attack. But Gordon’s Durant still breathes, heavy but steady, and glares back at the Magmortar with fury boiling like the attack she just took.

An enormous gush of water rushes over Durant. It takes a few seconds, but she staggers to her feet and keeps going after Magmortar. The big red Pokemon staggers back a bit. There’s clear surprise in his eyes, shakiness in his steps, that a _Durant_ of all Pokemon is coming after him. 

Except she isn’t. It’s a distraction.

Lanturn swims through the air into sight. Her mouth hangs open, spewing forth another huge spout of water, which strikes Magmortar in the back. Magmortar lets out a choked wheeze, a huge cloud of black smoke coming out of his mouth. He topples to the ground.

“Still not taking care of yourself,” Gordon yells out from further down the hill. Dean wouldn’t say he’s _happy_ to see Gordon, Kubrick, and their damn Durant and Lanturn, but an ally’s an ally. 

“How are you guys?” Dean shouts out. All he gets in return are two brief, sharp nods. He figures it wouldn’t fit at all if they suddenly rushed over to hug him, instead of being harsh, distant tough-asses all the time. “I’m – gonna keep going. You’re welcome to follow.”

The destination’s always been the middle of this battle. That’s where Abaddon is, and Dick Roman, and Azazel, and Lucas fucking Christopher. Vengeance roars through his system at the thought of all of them, the depth of his sadness pushed down even further by the fury that rises up in him.

Lucas’ Hydreigon flies by him not long after. She’s counterattacking Dean’s allies in the area, sending them flying back with long tendrils of tar-black energy; there’s no doubt she’s a supremely well-trained Pokemon. But her movements are so unnatural, herky-jerky, like she’s nothing but a wind-up toy. Something’s just missing from her. Dean wishes he could find some way to give it back.

After this battle, at least.

A bunch of Dean’s allies are sending their Pokemon after her; he spots Jake, Ennis, and Amy. Kubrick’s Lanturn launches Hydro Pump after Hydro Pump right into her gut, like she’s transformed into a waterfall. Hydreigon tries to fight back, corrosive gray mist rising from her body and dusting over any Pokemon that’s not smart enough to get out of the way, but in the beats between attacks her head wags back and forth, back and forth. She’s lost without her trainer.

Her tail whips out at Staraptor, who’s reappeared by Dean’s side. All it succeeds in doing, though, is driving Staraptor back. She’s moving too slowly to strike a solid blow.

“Close Combat,” Dean tells Staraptor, low. “Try and be careful.” No matter how much Dean may want to defeat her, it ain’t pretty to watch Hydreigon struggle like this.

Staraptor swoops in, forehead crest bobbing up and down ferociously. Her claws outstretched, she latches on to Hydreigon’s vulnerable blue belly scales, and pummels her with her wings. Some of the feathers from Staraptor’s wings drift to the ground with the utter force of her movement.

“Cas wasn’t kidding around with the training,” Ennis says. His Scizor has moved away from Hydreigon a bit. She’s got a funny look on her face, gazing at Staraptor. There’s something like awe there.

Staraptor smashes her _head_ against Hydreigon’s stomach, and that’s it. Hydreigon lets out a pathetic wheeze, a noise something as majestic and powerful as a Hydreigon should never make.

It was the last hit she could take. Staraptor wrenches her claws out of Hydreigon and takes to the air again, leaving Hydreigon falling, falling, falling, until she lands on the ground and sets off a small cloud of russet dust. Hydreigon’s black wings twitch, and her body rises and falls gently, a sign she’s breathing. Other than that, she’s disturbingly still. Her two extra heads loll off to the side. With their eyes closed, they’re completely absent of any expression at all, even that eerie frigidity. 

Dean expects something. Cheers, maybe. But there’s nothing; the group just nods, to acknowledge each other, then moves on to other battles. No one’s paying any attention to him, and no one’s paying any attention to Hydreigon either. Lucas himself probably doesn’t give a shit that she’s passed out. Carefully, Dean walks over to her long, prone form. 

He runs a hand over her skin. It’s pebbly and rough, but still wet from the Hydro Pumps Lanturn had been lobbying in her direction. Every thought of Vaporeon comes rushing back to him. Unbidden, his fingers _grip_ Hydreigon; he needs to steady himself.

Cas, too. He can’t think of one loss without its fucking awful twin appearing beside it. Cas wouldn’t be here practically weeping over a Pokemon he didn’t know at all. He’d be getting shit _done_ , finding a way to get Hydreigon and the other injured and fainted Pokemon some kind of help.

Dean manages to pull his hand away, only to pat Hydreigon’s side and bend down enough so that his cheek is on her hide. He can feel her breathing. This is probably the most affection she’s ever gotten, considering Lucas is her trainer. “It’s going to be okay,” Dean says. 

Fucking ridiculous thing to say. He’s talking to the massively powerful Pokemon of a man who exiled himself to another dimension in order to gobble up all the power he could. Vaporeon is gone. Cas is gone.

But Dean has to be a little ridiculous. He’ll keep fighting. He has to believe it will be okay for someone. 

He pets Hydreigon’s side again, standing up, and leaves all tenderness there, summoning his fury again.

 _Cas is gone_ echoing in his head, Dean utterly launches himself into the battle. Most of the fighting is physical by now, because many trainers have lost their Pokemon. _Not permanently_ , Dean thinks, and he lets the bitterness flow through his whole system and turn it sour. He’s a maelstrom of rage, his fists battering opponents. When he spits, it comes out red, and he doesn’t give a shit.

His dad would have probably loved to see him like this.

It’s the only thought that gives him pause. 

Until Dean feels a _hard_ grip on his shoulder. He turns around, fully prepared to tell Sam to get his big stupid monkey paws _off_ him and let him go. But it’s not Sam. He finds himself looking into the face of the man who, in a way, started all of this.

The years, and all those nights in jail, haven’t been kind to Alastair. He was tall and thin, yes, but not _gaunt_. The pockets under his eyes have turned deep and dark enough to give him a grinning skeleton smile. His appearance would sink Dean’s stomach even if he didn’t know this guy was bad, bad news. 

“Hello, Dean,” Alastair says with a smile jagged and cold as the bottom of an iceberg. “It’s been _so_ long.” 

“Didn’t miss you,” Dean replies, but as soon as the words are out of his mouth Alastair cuts them off with a laugh. It’s soft, almost airy. 

Alastair finally removes his hand from Dean’s arm. Dean’s got his usual way too many layers on, but he knows that under his long sleeves, Alastair was holding him tight enough to flush the skin white. “That’s a shame. You could have been great with me, Dean, you and your – poor departed Vaporeon.” 

Dean punches him right in the fucking face. Not a goddamn thing feels good right now, but that comes pretty close. 

After a moment, Alastair staggers to his feet. Blood’s dripping down his face, and a bruise is already starting to curdle under his thin skin. “Such a fighter, Dean,” he says, a mocking sort of awe in his voice. “So violent. Without a home, they say, and trying so hard to make your own family because yours got torn apart. You would have been perfect for the Hellscape.”

By this point, the guy is fucking _looming_ over Dean. All he can do is stand his ground and look straight up into those oddly dead eyes. “You’d know, right,” Dean returns, not a trace of a quiver in his voice. “Because you’re such a good trainer.”

With those words, Dean finds himself taking the brunt of a punch. The hit goes to the gut, not the face, but he’s staggering backwards after it anyway, losing his footing until he collapses on the grass. He hoists himself up, the world tilting back and forth before him. 

“Funny you should say that,” Alastair says. “Others have been so generous. I’ve managed to obtain a Pokemon through these long years. You know, they say Pokemon can be so _disobedient_ , but that hasn’t been my experience.” He snaps his fingers.

The thing that appears at Alastair’s side barely resembles a Pokemon. Chrome armor fits to its humanoid body, and there’s a visor stretched across where its face should be in order to block out any expression. Two white spots glow on its face, something like eyes. The figure doesn’t look anything like a Pokemon, moderated beyond belief, but it’s also instantly recognizable with its long whip tail and dangling, powerful legs. The armor covering its head still has spaces for two tiny feline ears.

Mewtwo, a Pokemon born of human arrogance. And this ain’t no ordinary Mewtwo, but one covered in top-of-the-line armor. Shit, shit, shit.

“I’ve spent only a few days with this beauty,” Alastair says, “and yet I’m sure it packs more punch than any of your sad, small creatures ever will.” His hand touches Mewtwo’s arm; the thing doesn’t even move in response. It merely keeps floating in the air, only a foot or so off the ground, facing forward at nothing at all. Creepy as hell. “Allow me to show you.” 

Dean’s thrown to the ground again, all the air punching out of him in the sudden movement. He tries to raise his hand in an attempt to get up, but it’s no good. No good at all.

The first time Alastair attacked him, he got his goons to do the dirty work. Dean still remembers the panic that rose through his gut and throat when he found himself pinned to the ground by an Illumise’s psychic attack, how his system thrashed at him when his body physically couldn’t. That attack was so much weaker than anything a fully powered-up Mewtwo could offer.

He can’t move. He can’t even blink. His eyes water up but there’s no goddamn relief from it, his sight just burns until the field before him is nothing but green for the grass and rust-streaked-blue for the sky. Sure, he’s breathing, but he’s pretty sure that’s because Alastair wants to fuck with him before he crushes him like so many Caterpie underfoot. And it’s no goddamn relief; every breath sears him, jolts pain to life in his limbs and stomach anew. 

Dean thinks he hears a voice, very distantly, say _Mewtwo_.

Dean is lifted, up and up and up, until he can see the whole battlefield stretch out before him, a terrifying sight that nevertheless stirs something in him. So he hasn’t been so beaten down. He can’t turn his head to look, but he sees movement everywhere. Bursts of energy, green and blue and red and yellow, erupt on the field, then fade. 

They remind him of fireworks. He thinks of a couple of holidays Dad was busy doing God knows what, and he managed to get away with Sammy and watch the fireworks burst in the sky, glittering colors streaming above their heads. Their Pokemon would run around in a tizzy, the lights glittering across their shiny coats, and the two of them would laugh. 

That’s what Dean will think about, in his last minutes. It’ll be his last thought before Alastair tears him apart.

*

Apparently Alastair wants to fuck with him some more, though.

Screams echo from below. They aren’t pleasant sounds to hear. There are Pokemon mixed in with them, too, and that’s what really gets Dean. He twirls around and around through the air, rolling over and over in the sky, like Alastair and Mewtwo shoved him down a hill. He wants to be sick, if only he could _do_ anything about it. But the screams might as well be miles away. Maybe they are, even, considering how high up he is. It’s damn lonely up here. 

Tired. He’s so tired. He just wants this to end. His eyelids are fluttering shut.

 _His eyelids are fluttering shut._ His body jolts with the agency of it.

Suddenly, a wall of noise slams into Dean, and the screams he can hear are torn from his own throat because he’s hurtling through the air, crashing down down down, until –

Something catches him on its back. He falls with an ungraceful thud, but his body still thrills at the motion. Dean doesn’t even need to look down to the skin he’s gripping too tightly realize what it – he – is. But he does anyway, because he wants to see Cas in all his glory now.

Cas turns his head around, slow and deliberate. And the second Dean makes eye contact, he knows Cas is back. The light catches in his eyes, and though his face is set in a placid state, there’s a determination carved there too. This isn’t just some automaton any more. Cas is back, he’s _back_. Dean slides forward best he can to sit in the space between Cas’ shoulders and neck, cradling the latter.

“Man, it’s good to see you,” is all Dean can say. The world goes blurry again. It’s not Mewtwo pinning his eyes open. It’s not the dust flying everywhere. It’s just him.

They soar through the air. Dean almost understands why some freaks out there _like_ flying when it’s like this, Cas slicing through the air like he’s got a bayonet equipped to his wings. Attacks whiz by them, but Cas moves too fast; they don’t even come close to hitting. 

“Think they might need some help down there, big guy,” Dean points out.

Cas glides to the ground, letting Dean off softly. Dean hops off his back, and then when he turns around, it’s – Cas. Maybe his hair looks a little wilder, like the wind ruffled it, but other than that, he’s the same as he’s ever been. Intense enough to make him a little intimidated, intriguing enough to reel him in close.

Dean’s heart is still shattered, and the fight still rages not twenty feet ahead of them, but he cradles Cas’ cheeks, relishing the stubble that’s so rough under his fingers, and kisses the hell out of him. The wind whips up around them, angry, blowing cold enough that Dean has to move his body in until it’s cradled against Castiel’s. He hardly minds.

“I’m so sorry,” Cas says when they break apart, moving up his own hands to hold Dean’s face now. Dean hears the fight; he can even smell it, burning smoke wafting up into the sky serving as a warning. But this is an oasis. His flicker of light in the darkness. He needs it. 

Not missing a beat, Cas tucks Dean against his side, and raises his other arm, palm outstretched. A burst of blue light erupts from it, and some nameless, faceless baddie and his Pokemon go rolling away from them.

That’s Cas, Dean thinks. Half the man who could hold him like this, and half a fierce warrior, a Pokemon-human hybrid with enough power to level the whole damn battlefield before them.

“How’d you – how did you get out of Roman’s control?” Dean starts.

“I like to think it was from my strength of character,” Cas tells him. His hand is curled around Dean’s hip, his grip heavy. But then he turns to Dean, smiling. “Dean, no, you know why. I saw you there, and something jolted me back to reality. Thank you. I can’t thank you enough.”

“I love you,” Dean sputters out. He never meant for this confession to happen in _this_ kind of situation. “Love of my damn life, really, I know it’s been – only months, but –” There was a time when he was smooth, really.

Cas smiles. It’s small and warm and the whole damn world right now. “I know,” he says in return.

“That’s my line.” 

“I love you too, then.” Cas kisses him, then, brief but enough to thrill. The air smells acrid, and the dust clouds are so thick here it’s hard to see anything on the field, so for the moment, Cas seems like the whole world. 

They break apart soon, and Cas looks right into Dean’s eyes – that same stare that’s icy and warm at the same time – and tells him, “Let’s go.” Staraptor flaps to Cas’ shoulder, looking as inscrutable as ever, as if nothing’s changed. Dean could almost laugh about it.

He’s gonna laugh again some day, he knows that. He will.

“Thank you,” Dean says, before they do move off. “For the, uh, consolation. Ain’t your fault, obviously. And it’s not gonna bring her back. But it – it means a lot.”

“I love her too,” Cas says. “She’s a hero.”

 _Love. Is._ When did Cas become the optimistic one?

They haven’t traveled far from Alastair, blasting Flying-type Pokemon out of the sky with his Mewtwo. He slaps a creepy, empty smile across his face when he sees Dean return. But Dean catches that flicker of doubt across his face, too. After all, Cas is with him, and he’s _alive_.

Cas walks right past Alastair, though, and up to Mewtwo. He touches his hand over Mewtwo’s chest plate, where its heart is, and the armor clunks off Mewtwo’s body.

Mewtwo’s still intimidating without the armor. No longer is he all expressionless chrome and steel, but that’s been replaced with unnaturally smooth curves and eyes fierce enough to burn. The eerie lights covered those eyes before, but now they’re visible, hard and sharp like the mask served to whet the knife. 

Cas takes that knife blade jab, and keeps _staring_ right back at Mewtwo. Alastair howls in the background, ordering Mewtwo to tear them apart. Dean’s shocked at how little he actually cares.

“You don’t want this,” Cas tells Mewtwo, fiercely. “I was just like you. Power they couldn’t control, power they salivated over. They made me into what they wanted me to be, their toy, their _tool_. But they couldn’t keep me that way.”

Mewtwo cocks his head, jaw and mouth set tight. It feels like an inspection. 

“It’s up to you,” Cas says, after a few moments of this stand-still. “But I prefer things this way.”

That seems to make the decision for Mewtwo. It breaks its glare toward Dean and Cas to turn it toward Alastair. Dean braces himself for a messy attack, but there’s nothing like that. 

Instead, Mewtwo instantly takes off toward the air. It moves gorgeously, cutting a smooth path through the sky. It soars overhead for a moment or two, before turning its glare back to Alastair. And then it’s gone from the battlefield altogether, headed out toward greater Unova. 

Dean’s got no idea where Mewtwo’s going. Even with Cas’ freaky powers, he’s probably got no idea either. But God, it _got away_. He can’t help but smile at that.

“Are you kidding me!” Alastair snarls, his words curdling. Watching the cracks spider out over the very deliberate shell they’ve created is satisfying as anything Dean’s ever done. 

Cas walks up to him, and grabs him by the shirt collar. When Cas saved Dean from Alastair once before, he’d been calm and collected; now, he’s the exact opposite of that, fury in human form. He grips Alastair’s collar tight enough that his knuckles drain of blood. “You have no play left,” he tells Alastair, his tone deliberate. “If you had bothered to give your Pokemon the minimal amount of respect it deserved, you’d be one of the most powerful trainers alive. But you have _nothing_ left.” 

As if she was summoned, Staraptor perches right on Cas’ shoulder. Dean can’t see her face from here, but her feathers have puffed up; her size must have increased by a full third, at least. He imagines that glare of hers trained on Alastair and smiles grimly.

Dean’s expecting Alastair to go down in a flurry of feathers and talons. It’d be satisfying as hell. What he gets, instead, is Cas’ voice. “Dean?” When Dean looks at him, clearly confused, Cas tells him, “I think this is your go.”

Dean looks at Alastair. He’s old, Dean realizes, and scrawny. A couple of his teeth are missing. 

This is a man without strength of any kind. At the Hellscape, he made everyone else do his filthy work for him. Then, he got Mewtwo to do it. He’s just pathetic.

Dean punches him, yes, but it feels more like mercy than anything else. Alastair crumples to the ground with no more force than the clothes on his back getting dropped there. 

Again, though, Dean’s let himself get caught off-guard. Because he hears something whirring through the air. He turns around quickly, giving himself enough time to see a purple sphere moving through the air. It’s another Master Ball, headed right toward Cas again. Dean’s stomach lurches, because _no no no not again, not again_.

The ball doesn’t have the opportunity to strike Cas’ body; he grabs it one-handed, and crushes it in its fist. It’s already mangled when he hurls it on the ground. If it wasn’t already unfixable, it certainly is once he stomps on it and crushes it underfoot. 

Cas has never been this whip-quick and violent in his actions. Dean loves him all the goddamn more for it.

“That was an unspeakable amount of money!” Roman exclaims, and if Dean didn’t hate that dickwad enough he’d hate him for caring about _that_ , of all things. “The research that went into it, _wasted_. You’ll regret –”

“Buddy, you’re giving the wrong guy the stock villain speech,” Dean interrupts. “Razor Wind!” 

Staraptor takes to the sky again, her wings in perpetual motion. There’s been a heavy breeze blowing, but it picks up, until it’s whizzing by all of them. It’s fast-moving and cold enough to hurt when it brushes their skin, but then the column of air starts to climb up and up, twisting furiously, until it glints silver and rushes at Roman.

He tries to dodge it, but it’s no use. The wind is far too powerful. His body topples down the hill, and Dean and Cas both peek over the edge to see him lying there, limbs splayed. The last remnants of the wind push him back a few feet more.

If they manage to pull this off, however unlikely, Roman will go to jail for-fucking-ever. Dean hopes his prison cell is _tiny_. It’s exactly what he deserves.

“Keep heading up the mountain,” Cas tells him, even though his breath is already running ragged. “Good lookout. Staraptor can take out any stragglers she sees.”

“You strategist, you,” Dean teases, grinning. They march up together, out of sight of the rest of the group. Sam, Anna, Charlie, Amy. Dean’s lost track of all of them. He just hopes they’re alright. 

This seems easy. Too easy. So of course, when they’re halfway up the hill, a searing pain jolts Dean’s leg and he collapses to the ground. 

Cas screams his name, over and over again, and Staraptor swoops too close. The pain is so complete that Dean can barely register them. When he’s done twitching, he slams a hand over his thigh. He’s expecting that hand to come back stained red, because whatever it is felt like a fucking gunshot.

Instead, his hand comes back same as ever, though it’s still shaking. The fucking _pain_ , though, that’s new, and it’s pressing right _against_ his thigh –

It’s in his pocket. The fucking screaming pain, it’s tucked in his pocket. So Dean grits his teeth and digs in, hurling out whatever he found in there. These bad guys had all kinds of fucked-up experiments going on; they probably found time to slip some sort of delayed nerve bomb into their pockets. Just what he needs, really.

All that flies through the air from Dean’s hand, though, is Dean’s wallet, and his keyring. The keys glitter as they pick up the sun, and that stupid key from his dad catches the light too hard. Dean’s tired, so tired, worn out to his bones, and all he can do is twist his head away from the glare of it.

When he turns back, though – well, he certainly wasn’t expecting that.

A four-legged creature, about Dean’s height, stands in front of him. She’s the picture of grace. Easy swoops and spiky edges meld seamlessly on her body, all in gentle shades of green, pink, and cream. Dean would’ve recognized this Pokemon anywhere, but he thinks of the door of his father’s storage locker, and how the Swords of Justice were so meticulously portrayed. As it turns out, whoever carved that door didn’t do a half-bad job.

Virizion takes one last long look at Dean, and then bounds off into the fray. Thigh-length grass sprouts up in her wake, sharp-bladed. The tips of it glitter in the sun. Dean wouldn’t wanna walk through it. 

“What the _hell_ ,” Dean breathes, watching her bounce away from him. Careful to avoid the new, nasty-looking grass, he moves his way toward a better vantage point. Dean’s seen a lot of shit in his life, but this is flat-out shocking. 

Virizion is still down there; she rushes around the group, drawing in but easily dodging attacks from all sides that are launched at her now, but she’s accompanied by three other four-legged Pokemon. One is stout and sturdy, hits uselessly evaporating gainst her skin of solid rock. The second has spikes that glint in the sun, and impressive jagged horns that extend up from her forehead and span a distance of what must be more than half her body length. She stains the grass silver where she steps on it. The third creature is small enough that Dean could miss him if he didn’t know he’d be there, but his blue color is a shock. 

Not just Virizion, but she apparently brought her friends, too: Terrakion, Cobalion, and Keldeo. Again: _what the hell_. 

Cas is moving forward, unmoved by the fact that _goddamn legendary Pokemon_ have joined the battle up ahead. What he comes back with are Dean’s keys and wallet. 

“Not really what I need right now –” Dean starts, snappish even though he knows it’s unfair. He falls silent when he gets a good look at that key to the storage locker, which he’s been toting around for nearly a damn year now. Just another family artifact, he told himself, but that was before he found himself staring at the live image of the Swords of Justice. 

“Who saved Unova in the last great war?” Cas asks, more of a breath than a question. 

Dean looks out at the field in front of him, while Cas steadies his hands on his shoulders. The grass is scorched to hell, deep gashes scoured out of the ground; big patches are still on fire or smoking. There are bodies all around, people and Pokemon alike, passed out. Or Dean at least _hopes_ they’re passed out. 

From his vantage point, Dean sees, of all people, Naomi and Uriel fighting back to back. Naomi’s Gothitelle sends out swoopy Psywaves, which travel through the air like they have a mind of their own. They send whole bunches of suit-clad baddies and their Pokemon backwards; Uriel’s Skarmory isn’t doing a bad job picking off the stragglers, either, wings gleaming bright in the sunlight. 

But there are just too many people advancing on Naomi, Uriel, and the rest of Dean’s allies. Wave after wave head after them. Giratina’s dark shadow coils and uncoils in the distance, his troops reaching up to pat his underbelly scales as they pass. Some Pokemon attempt to reach him, but he stares them down with disdain in his eyes. With a flick of his tail, they fall to the ground and lie still.

This is Unova’s next great war, Dean realizes. Maybe not even a war. Maybe the end. Unless they stop it here and now, it will march from town to town and destroy the whole damn world. That’s why the Swords of Justice are here. Dean had them with him all along, it turns out, but they only came when 

Virizion pauses in her fighting. She bends her front legs to kneel down, one long smooth graceful motion, and taps her horns against something small on the field. The little puff jumps up and lands on her back, and the two of them go charging back into battle. It takes Dean a moment until he realizes that was Gabriel’s Whimsicott, and she revived it with her touch.

“You saw that, right?” Dean asks. Cas nods. Surprise has given him a wide-eyed look, something Dean doesn’t see on his face too often.

The legends say that Terrakion, Cobalion, and Virizion were perfectly happy to stay out of the last great war – until the humans killed their brother Keldeo. They revived him and joined the fighting, decidedly turning the tide and leading the way for only peaceful humans and their Pokemon to let Unova flourish again.

A small figure comes running up the slope of the hill. Dean would know that figure, would know _her_ , anywhere. The frilled neck, the mermaid tail, the big silly ears. Bolting toward him, bright blue and _alive_. 

“Vayyyy!” she practically screams, hurtling headlong into Dean’s outstretched arms. Cas laughs next to him, and there’s disbelief in it but mostly joy. Staraptor swoops down to fly in circles around the three of them, her feathers puffed up.

Vaporeon’s skin is wetter than he remembered. A lot of it’s probably due to his tears. He’s pretty sure no one’s gonna hold it against him.

“Dean!” He manages to lift his head to see Sam running toward him. Maybe he should be embarrassed about his red eyes, the skid of tear tracks on his cheeks, his tight grip on Vaporeon like she’s his offspring, but fuck that. They’re so lucky to be alive, all of them. Dean’s gonna fuckin’ cry if he wants to. “How in the world –”

“Keldeo?” Dean asks Vaporeon, who just nods and snuggles deeper into Dean’s arms, against his shirt. 

He’ll ask more questions later. For now, he’ll just be grateful. 

He motions to Cas, Sam, and their Pokemon. “We got work to do,” he tells them. Vaporeon’s still hoisted in his arms. It’s gonna be hard to let her go.

Depictions of the Swords of Justice cross all of Unova. Thing is, in all of those paintings and carvings, those four Pokemon ended up looking like human nobility. They were never shown in motion, and they always had superior, snooty looks on their faces. Dean wondered how quadrupeds could possibly be Fighting-types, anyway.

When Dean’s faced with them in real life, though, it becomes clear to him just how obvious it was that those artists had never seen those Pokemon in action. He’d been a moron to doubt they could ever be fighting type. They fight in a gorgeous dance, grace and power combined. With every leap they take, Pokemon go falling off to the side as if struck. Their skin glistens with exertion, but in the light, it just looks like they’re shining. 

Abaddon stomps around the field below. She looks pissed. More than that, she looks _wild_ , where there was nothing but ease in her gait before. Ease, and viciousness, and that easy wicked laugh Dean will hear in his nightmares for decades. Her hair’s starting to come out of its tight binding, long red strands framing her face. The strands look like blood. Fitting. 

“Hydro Pump,” she commands her Tentacruel. He floats over, stiff and quiet, and produces an enormous gush of water from nowhere, aimed right at the Swords of Justice. 

The burst splatters against Terrakion’s side. Dean grimaces. Terrakion’s a Rock-type; Water-type moves should hit her hard. 

In theory. In reality, what happens is nothing more than Terrakion blinking a couple of times, and turning around to face Abaddon and Tentacruel. The water slowly drips off Terrakion’s side, puddling underneath her, but she might as well be a pure granite statue for all she reacted.

Abbadon’s constant grin falls. “Tentacruel –”

Cobalion’s head whips from side to side, and then she bounds out of the way past Abaddon. Keldeo follows suit, scrambling with his tiny hooves to keep up. Other Pokemon stampede away in their wake. Their owners chase after them, desperately, but they stay just out of reach.

Running away is a damn smart move. When legendary Pokemon, and legendary _protectors_ at that, flee, you flee too. 

Terrakion stands alone, the grass flattened around her. She swings her head back and forth, and snorts. Then she lifts up on her hind legs for several seconds, something Dean thought was impossible considering her bulk, and crashes back down to the ground.

She lands serenely.

The waves of her Earthquake attack do not.

Tentacruel goes flying back first. The ground itself comes up to smack him in across the face; Dean can only watched, transfixed, as the grass and dirt stretches up and up until Tentacruel’s skidding across its surface. The wave soon moves, though, and he hits the ground with a heavy splat. Dean doesn’t know why he’s cringing, because this Tentacruel did something unthinkable. Then he remembers, he’s little more than an automaton snagged in Abaddon’s snare. 

What happens to her is far more satisfying.

The second Tentacruel lands in the grass, ooze drooling from his body, she starts moving away quickly. She can’t run, but she’s striding purposefully. There’s a smirk on her face. Probably thinks she got away easy.

That’s when the second wave hits. The vibrations shatter the heels on Abaddon’s shoes, and force her momentum forward until she completely loses her balance. When she hits the ground, she lands much harder than Tentacruel did. She picks her head up and groans mightily, scarlet-tipped fingers digging into the ground. There’s a long streak of dirt down her cheek, grass in her hair. Her fingernails are going to be filthy, too. She looks like the rest of them, a fucking mess. 

Dean’s never seen Abaddon as anything less than utterly unflappable. Even with a fucking corpse at her feet, she did nothing but turn a vicious smile at it. This feels right, her crawling her way up from the ground and screaming in agony to do it. 

Carefully, Dean lifts Vaporeon up, until she’s close enough to whisper to. He breathes in the scent of seawater, the salty air and spray on the beach. He’s come home again. 

Quietly, so only she can hear, he says, “You don’t have to go out there. It’s hard – it’s been hard, for _me_. Can’t imagine what it’s like for you, seeing all this. I can leave you with Flagstaff, you know she could kick my ass any day of the week…” 

There’s an awful lot of affection mixed in with the look Vaporeon gives Dean, but it’s also undoubtedly withering. “Breeeeee,” she trills, bumping her scaly forehead against his own. Then she leaps out of his arms, and gallops off into the fray. 

Even though Dean finds himself rushing to keep up with her, he can’t help but laugh.

The line of Pokemon that fled from Terrakion’s Earthquake is just starting to break up, realize who’s friend and foe and return to the battle, but Dean spots Lilith peek out from behind the line and go running. He feels his stomach jolt unpleasantly at the sight of her. Her Drifblim’s nowhere in sight, and she doesn’t seem to care.

Pokemon moves erupt in front of her. A Stone Edge bursts from the ground, nasty jagged rocks that could have impaled her if they were a foot or two to the right. Beams of all colors blast through the air, and she easily weaves between all of them. She dodges every attack. Until Cobalion appears right in front of her.

No Drifblim means Lilith’s got no way to attack. Or at least, that’s what Dean thought. That’s what any _decent_ person would think.

Lilith ain’t decent.

She balls her fist up and punches Cobalion, right in the neck, right between where the tuft of hair on her chest ends and her jaw begins. Lilith might be skinny, but there’s clearly strength in her arms and legs. 

Cobalion’s a Steel-type. Strong as Lilith might be, all she gets out of the punch is the crunch of her hand smashing against a hard carapace with no give. The noise from it rings throughout the field; it sounds like an old, rusty bell. She stumbles backward from the force of it, good hand gripping her ruined one. Dean wishes that wasn’t so satisfying to see. 

“Drifblim!” Lilith cries out. Her gaze tracks over the sky, until she sees him, drifting over the trees in the distance. He’s high above the battle, serenely looking out at it. “Come back –”

All these assholes, Lucas and Roman and Abaddon and even Marv – rest in anything but peace – they all thought it was so _easy_ to get rid of Pokemon instincts. There was one, though, they clearly didn’t count on, the most basic instinct of all: Pokemon seek protection for themselves, too. 

With Lilith’s words, Drifblim starts to move again. They’re a slow-moving species, but he’s definitely headed in the opposite direction of her voice, and the fight, to find peace over the tree cover. It’s easy to think he’s moving with the wind, but Dean knows better than that. He keeps looking until Drifblim becomes little more than a purple pinpoint in the sky.

 _Happy trails, buddy,_ he can’t help but think. _After all that, you deserve it._

Cobalion stares down Lilith. The Pokemon doesn’t look angry, only surprised. Azazel’s rushed to her side, but his Hypno’s gone too. Dean hopes she headed off in the same way Drifblim did.

Giratina rolls over to the main core of the battle. He crushes and uproots trees as he goes, his body churning in mid-air. Pathetic splinters and shredded green vegetation lie in his wake. Pokemon attacks burst against his body; he keeps moving on despite them, but he can’t stay up there forever. His sharp eyes rake over the field. His goons, defeated and fleeing. Abaddon and Dick Roman, incapacitated. Azazel and Lilith, reduced to powerless messes.

 _They told me in the Distortion World,_ he hisses, his treble rattling the ground below him even with so much of his power gone, _nothing could beat me! No man, no woman!_

There’s a high-pitched laugh from the crowd. Dean thinks it’s Abaddon at first, and flinches. But then another figure steps forward, someone Dean forgot about in all the chaos. They look the same as they always do: neat hair curled at the ends, impeccable suit jacket, easy gait, stiff at the shoulders.

Hannah. Of course.

“You didn’t think of _Pokemon_ ,” they tell him. “Of course you didn’t.”

Lucas’ tail lashes out and rips down a row of trees in the glade. His scream shatters rocks scattered through the field, and has everyone on both sides ducking and covering their ears. 

He can scream all he wants. It’s just a matter of time.

Hannah’s Tropius takes to the air. Along with Dodrio, as far as Flying-type Pokemon go, Tropius kinda suck at actually flying. At least Hannah’s Tropius can keep his banana frond wings spinning; they lift him up like a dumpy helicopter.

Dragons resist Grass-type attacks, and Tropius is flagging. His path up to Giratina is wobbly, coming in fits and starts. Every few meters or so, he’s stuck pathetically flapping in mid-air, unable to fly up farther, hoping a gust of wind doesn’t push him right back down to the ground. None of this is a good idea.

Good idea or not, Tropius finally reaches the face of Giratina. He stares the enormous beast right in the crimson eyes, his calm face reflected in the shiny gold of his face mask.

The trees Giratina just crashed down to the ground suddenly stir back to life. Their leaves drift upward, slow at first but gaining speed. This is no natural wind. The leaves, fitting their way back together, slice long marks over Giratina’s body. They close up almost instantly, but the long jagged marks are a shock before his skin heals itself. 

Leaf after leaf drags itself across Giratina’s skin. Destruction by a thousand paper cuts.

With the leaves still billowing up, Tropius drifts back to the ground. He careens, really, his path back to firm land drifting this way and that through the air. If they all get through this okay, he’s gonna need a long stint in the closest Pokemon Center. He’s heaving out every breath, the char marks on his skin shuddering with his inhalations and flaking off in ashes. That’s never a good sign for a Grass Pokemon.

But he’s breathing. His eyes are open, and even defiant. He’s still very much alive, and definitely conscious. 

Giratina is still conscious too. Not like Dean was expecting this to be easy. Not like one act of defiance from a Tropius would end this battle. But Tropius shuddering his weaknesses out is expected. Giratina quivering in mid-air is less expected. 

He twirls up through the air, a black ribbon undulating this way and that to avoid the barrage of leaves. There’s so much of it, though, and now some of the trees are getting caught up in the green-flecked tornado. Their roots snag in his scales and he moans, loud enough that some of them on the ground below have to stumble to keep their balance.

Dean knows it, then. He knows they got him. 

Giratina takes a tree branch to the face. It sticks in the squishy part right under his eye, a sliver of skin where he isn’t protected by the face mask. He spasms in mid-air, and all the foliage falls away from him as he falls.

The Swords of Justice see their opening, and strike.

The four of them all launch themselves at Lucas at once. He may stretch out over the field dark and wide as an oil spill, but the second those four sets of horns lodge themselves into him, he howls in horror. 

Dean ventures a look back toward Opelucid itself. Gonna be one hell of a news report tonight. 

“Vaporeon,” Dean says, watching Giratina trying to pull himself away from horns like serrated blades. “Aurora Beam.”

It’s not her strongest attack. She’s too ragged to pull off an Ice Beam; a Blizzard would outright exhaust her, not to mention the havoc it’d cause in the weather. But everyone knows Dragons are weak to Ice, and this will stand nicely as Dean’s one last _fuck you_ to a man who tried to devour everything, only to find the Pokemon spitting _him_ out at the last moment.

Vaporeon straggles forward. People move out of the way of her path, giving her a clear shot. The pretty beam arcs through the air, a thin filament that resembles glass, and pokes Giratina right in the belly.

Ice starts to spread out from the point of impact, long white tendrils. They look like veins, but veins pump hot blood. These lines freeze Giratina right where he is, belly to the ground but head still raised. He could be seeking a challenge, still.

He blinks once, slowly.

Then his head falls to the ground, too.

Giratina’s wings lie flat. With his large, flat gray scales, he looks like a building reduced to rubble. His eyes are screwed shut and while he’s breathing, he’s completely still otherwise.

Lucas passed out. Lucas lost. They _won_.

Dean’s suddenly swept up in ecstatic cheering. People he hasn’t even met yet are hugging him, and he’s hugging them all back. He even lets them pick up Vaporeon, lets them cry on her and call her a miracle over and over again, even as he keeps one hand on her the whole time. He watches Anna throw her head up to the sky and let out a goddamn _primal scream_ , before she thuds the heel of her boot right into Lucas’ side. Gabriel hocks a truly impressive loogie onto his prone body.

They won. It’s over. It’s really over.

The field’s still plunged into chaos. All the embraces, the happy reunions, aside, there are still too many people there. Most of the mooks that weren’t already manhandled into captivity attempt one last escape, but with their outfits they’re too obvious. The majority of their Pokemon already turned on them once the Swords of Justice showed up, refusing to obey orders and fleeing from battle, but now they’re the ones rounding them up and pinning them in place.

“ _Please_ ,” Crowley, of all people, is begging. 

The Pokemon he’s talking to isn’t physically imposing. She barely reaches his waist. But she’s wielding an enormous bone weapon in her paws and one hell of a nasty glare in her eyes. Marowak, of course. And an entire pack of Cubone, more than ten of them, is gathered behind her. Crowley messed with the most notorious of Pokemon mommies, and he’s going to pay a heftier price than he ever meted out. 

“You have to let me go, I can get you whatever you want –”

Dean hated Crowley from the get-go, that slimy little beetle, but right now he almost pities him. No matter what he goes through, he’s obviously never going to understand Pokemon. What makes them tick, what makes them _love_. 

He doesn’t have to wait very long for Crowley to get his comeuppance.

Quicker and far more agile than you’d expect, especially from a Ground-type, Marowak jumps up and slams her club against his skull. Crowley doesn’t even get a word out, just a completely undignified squawk, before he deflates right into the ground.

Dean knows he could’ve easily stopped that. He didn’t. Maybe he gets Brycen-Man’s motivations after all.

That’s when Dean notices that in the time he’s been smirking at Crowley’s still form, the Marowak mother has advanced on him too. She’s brandishing her weapon, and her lip is tipped up in an unmistakable snarl. Well, shit.

“H-hey,” Dean offers, holding his hands up. “Is he – is he gonna live?”

Marowak stops in her tracks and nods, deliberately. One of the Cubone steps forward and chatters to her. She lowers the bone in her hands, but keeps staring. Everything in her is so coiled and tight, easy to snap.

Dean offers a quick nod of acknowledgement to the Cubone that had come forward – always did love those little guys, how could he not – and continues, “Then that – your attack – that’s the least he deserves.” Marowak manages another nod.

Another one of the Cubone offers Dean her best attempt at a thumbs-up from behind her mom’s back. It’s almost painfully adorable. Dean tries really hard not to laugh.

“I’m gonna go,” he says. “There’s gonna be people coming here, though, good people, that’ll – take care of you. Make sure you and your kids are safe. Alright?” 

Marowak approaches him. Tension locks up his thighs. When it comes to fight or flight, he’s gonna pick the latter, but in this situation he’d feel like a real dick. He feels Vaporeon ready behind him, too, and she’s a well-trained Pokemon with the type advantage. It’s going to be okay, he keeps telling himself. It’s going to be okay. 

Marowak carefully bends down, her eyes still on Dean, and drops her bone weapon on the ground. He lets an enormous breath out as it clatters. The moment seems tremendously significant, and he can’t fuck this up.

She takes a few steps further, but it’s only so she can touch her paw to his leg. Despite her height, she’s still intimidating as hell. Her head’s completely encased by the bone skull she wears; it doesn’t rattle around on her head like it does for the smaller Cubone, and there are gleaming ivory spikes in the back. But her eyes are enormously soft, now, tender even. 

Carefully, Dean places a hand of his own on the back of her skull. She nudges her head into it. “Thanks,” he says, voice ragged. 

It really is going to be okay.

He’s tired, so tired, but an entire night of sleep seems like an ocean away. There’s so much to do here, right now. 

“Dean!” a voice calls out, not long after he’s walked away from Marowak, who’s stalked away to roam the fields with her herd of Cubone behind her. He’s happy she’s alright, sure, but he can’t say he’s thrilled that Naomi found him. 

“You alright?” he asks anyway. Her feet are filthy and the seams have burst on the bottom of one of her pant legs, leaving it ragged. 

Gothitelle swoops in too closely to Dean, practically peering over his shoulder. He tries not to wince, but he’s pretty sure he fails.

“I don’t know,” she admits. At least her hair is still perfect to a strand and tightly wound inside her ever-present bun. “I just wanted to say – thank you. And Cas, and Anna –”

Something snaps in Dean. “Look,” he says, his voice a string pulled taut. “You’re welcome. _From me_. I’m glad you’re here. You wanna thank your kids, the kids you manipulated and lied to for years, you talk to them yourself.” 

He expects something from Naomi. Fury, shock, _something_. All he gets from her, though, is the bob of her throat in an enormous swallow.

She’s a short woman, and right now she’s a mess. Across the field, people and Pokemon alike are running to embrace each other; no one has come to see Naomi, not one of her trainees or anyone she hired, nobody at all. Naomi built an empire, and she’s got nothing to show for it but her Pokemon. Dean really shouldn’t feel bad, considering what she’s done, but he does. He does.

“You’re right,” Naomi says. Her jaw is set, the lines on her face visible but smooth. She has that same oddly distant cadence to her voice that she did the first time Dean met her, the cadence the past few weeks had ripped right from her throat and replaced with panic and worry and rage. “You’re absolutely right.” 

She moves away, Gothitelle tagging behind her. The crowd swallows her form up. Dean can’t help but watch her disappear. 

Cas finds Dean not long after. “Dean,” he breathes out, and wraps him up inside his embrace. Dean hugs him back, letting his hands travel the expanse of Cas’ shoulders, down to where his waist narrows. He lets his fingers drag over the sweep of his ribcage. 

“Clingy,” Cas says, warmth in his voice.

“Nailed it.” Dean lets his head fit in the space between Cas’ head and his shoulder, enough that Cas’ stubble rasps against his own. It’s not gentle, but it’s a comfort. Dean would laugh, because they’ve definitely reached super-sappy cliché status, but he’s tired, tired, tired. It’s so easy to let his body fit into Cas’ warm arms and meet his lips.

“We did it, Dean, it’s over. It’s over.”

Dean’s eyes flutter shut. He breathes in the words, lets them sink into his bloodstream and travel through his system. They did it, together. This world ain’t ever going to be a perfectly safe one, but they made a difference. They really did.

Cas continues. “The Pokemon they were experimenting on are going to be fine. Charlie was telling me something, a mile a minute as usual, but their experiments, for all the bragging they did, were little more than temporary. I believe I saw Dick Roman’s Snorlax sitting on his legs.”

“Tell me about it. Freakin’ glorious.”

Dean can tell Cas is only holding back his snort of laughter because the situation’s too serious. “The Snorlax looked – better. Not furious. I could have helped Roman, though. I didn’t.”

“I let a Marowak attack Crowley,” Dean confides. “Right in the kisser, too.”

“Good.”

“That’s what I thought.” 

Cas looks over what’s left of the battlefield, the groups huddled together and the Pokemon and people preventing any of Lucas’ group from leaving. “I think I understand the Brycen-Man plot now,” he concludes, solemnly. 

Dean’s about to laugh, because seriously, _Cas_ of all people making movie references, when four very familiar figures walk up to them. They’re hesitant, their steps slow and deliberate, like _he’s_ the one who deserves respect here. Whatever the case, Dean and Cas soon find themselves surrounded by the Swords of Justice, who stare at him. 

Mary always said Virizion was her favorite Pokemon. She loved to garden, and she loved Grass-types; when she found baby Budew or Sunkern, little more than seeds, she’d uproot them carefully to other Pokemon-friendly patches of grass, as opposed to getting rid of them entirely. She watched Hoppip take their first wobbly flights.

For his mom, Dean reaches out a hand – he’s able to ignore the trembling in it – and pats Virizion’s neck. She trills, and leans right into it. The move, the easy friendliness of it, reminds Dean of Vaporeon. That thought makes his sight go wobbly with tears. 

“Thanks,” Dean says, his voice low and shaky. “Just – thank you.” 

The Swords all duck their heads. The moment doesn’t last long, but Dean’s stunned it happened at all. He’s just _some guy_. He had a shitty life, sure, but who hasn’t. So many other people helped out in the battle. He deserves no shiny reward for any of this; he sure as hell doesn’t deserve ancient protectors, the ones who brought his Pokemon back to life, stooping to him.

Dean flicks his eyes toward Cas. Cas is a legendary Pokemon himself, but he’s still cautious while he strokes Keldeo’s mane. Keldeo taps his hoof in the dirt a couple of times, brick-colored dust poofing up around him and Cas. Cas just nods in return, sagely. 

If Cas is gonna casually chat with legendary Pokemon now, Dean thinks he might lose it. He might really crack up, here on the still-smoking battlefield. 

One by one, the Swords of Justice head off into the woods not long after that. It’s where Mewtwo disappeared to; it’s where Drifblim went. The forest is only a few miles outside Opelucid, and the battlers and Giratina fell hundreds of trees. It still stretches, placid and dark, further than the eye can see.

Terrakion’s the last to go. The key’s dangling out of her mouth. She nudges her head toward them.

“Keep it,” Dean tells her. “I don’t – I don’t really need that any more. You guys might, some time down the line.” 

Terrakion’s eyes narrow in confusion.

“She thinks humans are quite strange,” Cas tells Dean.

Dean laughs. “She’s not wrong. Tell her – uh, tell her thanks, again.” 

Cas holds up his hand, then rotates it a bit. The bafflement in Terrakion’s eyes fades away, and she snorts, short and emphatic. “You’re very welcome,” Cas says.

She tromps toward the forest. The second she reaches it, she vanishes to their eyes. It’s no place for humans, Dean understands now, letting Cas walk him away from it carefully. Their own Pokemon follow at their heels.

“It’s gonna be okay?” The sky overhead keeps wobbling; Cas’ face is blurry, too. Must be all that smoke, Dean figures. Gettin’ in his eyes. 

“It is going to be okay.”

As they stagger back to the main crowd, Sam and Amy find them. Sam’s eyes are wilder than his hair, which truly says something. “Did you see – was that a Ditto or Zoroark or – did we really have the Swords of Justice on the field with us?”

“Oh, it was really them, Sam,” Dean tells him. 

Sam holds him at arm’s length and gawks. “Unbelievable. I – I can’t believe it.”

“That’s redundant, hun,” Amy butts in. But she’s smiling while she says it. She’s supporting her Alakazam with an arm around his waist. Espeon normally darts here and there, moving so fast Dean’s wondered if she’s using her Psychic abilities there too, but now she’s hobbling from person to person on shaky paws. Everyone’s a little worse for wear. But everyone’s _okay_.

“I – when this is all over, I got one hell of a story to tell you. The last couple of years, really, but today too.” Now Sam is definitely looking at him funny. “What?”

Sam chuckles. “You’re just – you’ve changed. A lot. I don’t mind it.”

“Yeah, well, you’re still the same big dork.” 

They’re smiling at each other, really smiling. They never got the chance to just be brothers, because everything was so damn fraught. Maybe now they can find the oddest thing of all: normalcy. 

Sam and Amy apparently really distinguished themselves during the battle – Amy tells them, breathlessly, about Alakazam smacking Lucas-as-Giratina in the face with his _spoon_ when fighting him with Psychic powers just wasn’t working – so people keep trying to grab their attention to thank them. Dean’s not surprised when they’re pulled away from him, leaving him alone with Cas again, but he is surprised at the ferocity of Sam’s final hug. He ain’t an optimist, not when it comes to his family, but maybe something really has changed here.

Cas turns to him, his voice pitched low. “We need to find Anna; I’m sure she’s alright, but I’m worried. But first, Keldeo wanted me to tell you something.” 

“The tiny legendary horse that looks like a children’s cartoon character wants to give me a message, personally?” You know what, after the week he’s had, it doesn’t sound all that ridiculous after all. 

“Dean,” Cas says, but he’s biting back a laugh. “He wanted to say – yes. Sometimes it is that easy. But think about what got you that key. Was it easy, after all?”

Dean thinks about all the afternoons when he should have been in school but was facing another seemingly endless drive to another town that he knew would have no answers to a pointless question. He thinks about all the times he watched Vaporeon get pummeled by Pokemon that had been training since before Dean was even born, just so Dad could _toughen_ him up. He thinks about skipping class just to catch Sammy up. 

He thinks about the nights ticking by in agony when he thought Cas was gone. He thinks about the fresh, shocking pain of a kick to the gut. He thinks about how his entire body became a flipped-open trapdoor the moment he lost Vaporeon, a treacherous empty fall down into nothingness.

He made his way through all of it.

“He’s right,” Dean says. Vaporeon, who’s not much taller than Keldeo, is looking up at him and smiling. Dean can’t help but scoop her up. He looks right at Cas, and he’s smiling too, the big unabashed gummy grin he seems to save just for Dean. “He was absolutely right.” 

Dean curls in toward Cas, who reaches a hand up to cradle Dean’s cheek. It’s shockingly intimate, enough that Dean shudders, against a backdrop of a battlefield still soaked in chaos and accompanied by smoke plumes stretching higher and higher into the air. Dean’s got plans to go find and round up everyone he cares about out there on the field, but for now, he’s content to wind himself tightly against Cas. Staraptor peers interestedly at the two of them, and Vaporeon’s caught between them where she’s cradled against Dean’s front; they’re a part of this too.

“Not just anyone could summon a legendary Pokemon, you know,” Cas says. Dean doesn’t know, but Cas _would_. “They’re very strong, their powers beyond what any other Pokemon can do –”

“Alright, alright, stop showin’ off –”

Cas smiles. “But they’re just like any other Pokemon, too. They know bad, and more importantly than that, they know good. You once said Vaporeon was the best judge of character you’d ever met.” 

Dean remembers his legs burning, his lungs heaving. And then the simple, puzzled expression on Vaporeon’s face as she stood back by Castiel. 

“Even with summoning items, you need a good heart to summon a legendary Pokemon, nevertheless command it. And you – you, Dean, you have the best heart I’ve ever known.” 

Dean’s too used to brushing off any of Cas’ sappy shit. Cas’ shoulders tense a bit, which means he’s likely expecting the dismissal. But this time, Dean just stays silent, and touches his forehead to Castiel’s. They stay there, solid and steady on a smoking battlefield. 

“Tell ‘em I said thanks,” Dean whispers, and they’re so close, pressed against each other, that he feels rather than sees Cas’ smile in return.

Forty-eight hours ago, the two of them were in Icirrus City, freezing their asses off while they tried to dodge a few Druddgion making their way through the grass. A lot happened in the past two days. Yet this is what Dean is going to remember, he tells himself. Not any of the other shit. Just him and Cas, together, their Pokemon surrounding them. Everyone they love and care about is safe.

That’s what Dean can keep with him. This moment.

*

Cop cars and ambulances arrive on the field in a steady trickle. A funny smile makes its way to Dean’s face when he sees the Swords of Justice logo on the side, the four of them frozen in a state of inaction with expressionless faces. People and Pokemon with serious injuries are the top priorities to load onto the ambulances, but it leaves plenty of others stuck out here until the station’s able to get more cars. 

Dean sees Flagstaff and Nancy sitting together, so close their knees tap each other as they move. They’re talking quietly, and he makes a point to nod at them. Nancy’s eyes are dinner dish-wide, but she gives him the tiniest nod back, and Flagstaff actually smiles, even if it’s firmly close-lipped. Cas had found Claire and Tracy. Tracy’s Rampardos has a big scoop taken out of his side, like he really is made of only rock, but otherwise, they’re fine. He makes sure they all get on one of the first vehicles going back to Opelucid anyway. 

“The first medals for bravery you give out,” Cas told the van’s driver, a stern blonde woman with long bangs that he knew from Naomi’s center, “give them to those young women, please.”

After that, it takes a couple of hours for everyone to get cleared out. Dean, Cas, and Anna are some of the last to go. They’re all in pretty good shape, at least physically. Pidgeot and Staraptor chase each other through the air in lazy circles, clearly bored.

“What are we going to do now?” Cas asks Anna. The three of them found tree stumps, where they wait for the last of the police cars to come pick them up. “Our privacy is gone. Everyone knows.”

“Not _everybody_ knows,” Anna points out. “A group of people we already trust do. There will be some hysterical news reports. Maybe even an update in the Pokemon History textbooks. But Opelucid isn’t going to stay interested in Dragon-types it can’t capture.”

Cas doesn’t say anything in return; he just purses his lips, and places one hand on Staraptor’s swooping crest. After a moment, he lets his fingers touch Dean’s, and lace between them carefully. 

At last, they finagle their way into a cop car. Dean blinks in surprise when the policeman driving the car turns out to be Victor, but Victor just smiles. “Thought I saw that redhead friend of yours at the station,” he says. “Figured you’d get into this kind of trouble, Winchester.” Mienshao’s sitting upright in the passenger seat, her head whipping back and forth whenever anyone talks in some attempt to follow the conversation.

“You have no idea.” Dean sounds grumpier than he wanted, but when Victor gets the whole story, he’ll understand. He slumps against Cas’ side, and makes sure one of his arms stays in direct contact with Cas even if it’d probably be more comfortable if he moved it. He makes damn sure his foot’s touching Vaporeon, too; she’s curled up by his feet in the car like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

“The hell happened?” Victor asks, keeping his eye on the bumpy hills where the fighting took place. Safely inside the van, Dean thinks the plain looks so small, dwarfed by the darkness of the forest. Free from the sprawling mess of elements that flew through the air during the battle, with the dust and dirt settled on the ground, it’s actually peaceful.

“More than you can imagine,” Cas replies, in a friendly tone. “Let’s start with the people who were using experiments at Edlund University to _mutate_ Pokemon to do harm.” 

“Don’t wanna imagine.” Victor leans over, briefly, to pat Mienshao on the calf. Whoever’s driving one of the vans ahead of them waves out the window, and the van starts moving toward the gray, buzzing city. 

There’s a fleet of cars and vans by the police station. Dean’s thrown back into chaos again, the flashing red-blue-red-blue screams of the police vans visible even when he closes his eyes. He tries not to let panic rise up in his throat. “Things are normally pretty sleepy here,” Victor explains. “I know the Dragon obsession can be a little much, but most of that _much_ doesn’t spill over to Opelucid itself. Lotta skinny dipping incidents by the shore, usually. You can imagine how it’s been since we got the call that most of the Pokemon world’s most wanted were right here in Unova.”

Mienshao kicks the door of their van wide open. She gives Dean, Cas, and Anna a severe look, as if to make them aware of what went down when the police department got that call. Dean’s pretty sure they get the picture. 

Inside the station is a maelstrom. Most of the worst perps were carted off a long time ago, in one of the first waves of vans, but their mooks are still getting paraded in, with their heads down and hands cuffed behind their backs. Michael’s chained on both arms to a chair, his head down so he meets no one’s eyes, and Dean can’t help but feel smug.

That’s eclipsed, though, by his utter relief at watching the many happy reunions play out across the floor of the police station. Sam’s friends are all here, and Ennis seems to have volunteered to serve as a temporary crisis counselor until they can get more people in here. Cas’ siblings arrived before them, too. Dean’s a little taken aback when Hannah bear-hugs him, but the newfound family he’s found, they’re always surprising him. 

He makes sure to give that Tropius of theirs a big hug, too. Hell yeah, underdogs. 

“Not too shabby, right,” Gabriel calls out as Dean trips over her outstretched legs. He’s not surprised she’s sprawling over the floor, or that Kali is squished up right next to her. 

Tessa, Jody, Benny, they all hug him hard enough that Dean’s gotta catch his breath. Claire actually shrieks _Dean!_ and runs across the floor of the station. She’s smiling, really smiling, all the tension gone from her face and body. Her Noibat flutters noisily around their heads and even gets tangled in Claire’s hair, but she just laughs it off. Dean’s pretty sure he’s never heard her laugh like that before. It’s a good sound to hear. Tracy’s less overly enthusiastic, but she still pulls their bodies together with a one-armed hug. Rampardos even permits Dean to give his chrome head a big noogie. 

And Charlie. Dean was expecting to get the life half-squeezed out of him with her hug. But this hug isn’t nearly as gigantic as the ones he got from some of the others. But it’s quiet, and warm and genuine. They rock each other for a couple of minutes, definitely longer than would be considered normal, but Dean assumes no one’s gonna call them out on that.

“Saved the world, kiddo,” she tells him. 

“Don’t cry in public,” Dean says, teasing, his smile just as sincere as hers.

Dean can’t help but ask Victor the question, once Cas and Anna move off to talk to Uriel. Uriel looks about as gleeful as Dean has ever seen him; he must be thinking about all the people who will want to sue Zachariah after this. “Where’s Naomi?” 

“Takin’ care of some of the most wanted in here. Did it without even getting cleaned up. Why? Anna and Cas wanna see her? I’m sure she’ll be happy to see them.” Victor starts to move away, but Dean catches his elbow.

“No, actually, the opposite,” Dean says, voice low. Victor’s eyebrows go up. “I – it’s not really my story to tell. Give Cas a couple of months and I’m sure he’ll be more, uh, amenable to telling it. Anyway, not the best idea to push her on them now. Give ‘em time.” 

Victor’s eyebrows haven’t gone down any. “You guys got one messed-up situation going on,” he comes up with, eventually.

“Less messed up than it was a couple of hours ago.” 

“Got a point there, Winchester.” 

When Dean finds Cas, he’s talking to Delta. It’s probably a good sign she’s out in the main room, even if she’s handcuffed and guarded along with a few other dudes in stiff suits Dean doesn’t recognize, and not shoved into questioning with the worst of the lot. 

“You’re going to go to jail, Delta,” Cas says, his voice mostly reasonable but with a hint of ferocity to it. “No one’s getting you out of that.”

Delta’s eyes are still enormous and shiny, like they were when she looked up at Dean in Mt. Coronet. “I know,” is all she says. There’s no defiance in her voice, no misery.

“It’s going to be for a few months. Not years. Not the rest of your life.” Delta’s silent in response to that. “After that, we’ll see what you’re going to do.” 

She nods. Cas walks away from her and back to Dean. Dean loops an arm around Cas’ shoulders; he doesn’t want to be too far away from him for very long.

“You handled that way more maturely than I would’ve,” Dean says.

Cas smiles at him. “I’m just tired,” he explains. “It’s been a long day.” 

Dean chuffs out a laugh at that one. He pulls his gaze away from Cas to look out at the scene in front of him. Everywhere, families and friends reunite with each other. There are a lot of tears, enormous and completely lacking self-consciousness. Pokemon dart around the floor, playing with each other or otherwise snuggling up to their owners. A lot of them look pretty haggard, Pokemon and humans alike, and exhaustion sags throughout the room. 

Most of the emotion, though, is nothing but sheer happiness. It’s overwhelming, and Dean can’t remember if there’s been any other time in his life where he’s been so surrounded by this many people who are consumed with nothing but joy. 

His life’s been too devoid of that.

But Dean looks out at the scene in the police station with his arm slung around Cas. There are people he knows – Sam and Amy are crouched down to talk to a couple of little kids, which makes a smile spread so suddenly over Dean’s face it practically clicks on – and those he doesn’t. But that kind of joy he’s found here, the type that bubbles up and fills the room, he’s going to try to chase it for the rest of his life.

Dean likes his sleep when he can get it, but that night, he stays up watching the 24-hour news networks. Most of them just play footage of people running across the borders, from Hoenn to Sinnoh, from Kanto to Johto. They embrace loved ones, or maybe they’re just strangers, nothing but fellow grateful people. The news stations also play a couple of special features over and over – Dean sees them at least four times each watching the news for that long – featuring parents finally receiving calls and e-mails from their kids who went to college or moved away to other regions. Everyone’s sloppy crying. 

And okay, Dean’s proud of himself for not joining them. But he’s got Cas against his shoulder; Vaporeon against him, clammy and wet and probably leaving salt rings on his clothes that he’ll have to go scrub out, but so _alive_ ; and Staraptor next to Cas, wearing an expression like the very act of sitting is insulting to her even as she fluffs up her feathers and cuddles more deeply into his side. Sam is sawing logs off in Cas’s spare bedroom, probably keeping Amy awake, and Dean made sure everyone else found a place for the night as well. 

He’s not gonna join the people on the screen, miles and miles away, in crying. But he _could_. He really could.

Instead, he lets his body melt even further into Cas. He feels Vaporeon move with him, and he knows Staraptor’s moving whenever Cas does. They’re gonna leave a ridiculous indent in this sofa, and he doesn’t care. 

It’s bliss. Dean can’t remember the last time he thought _anything_ like that. Here he is, lost in it, watching happy people cry on the TV with his boyfriend – still a stupid word – warming his entire side. It’d be easy to get used to this.

For once in his damn life, Dean lets himself fall into what’s easy. 

* 

Their lawyer is a whiplash of a woman named Bela Talbot, who manages to have a grim cast over her brow and sparkling, lively eyes all at once. She’s the rare trainer to have more than one Pokemon.

“My original was this prince,” she tells them, holding up her Delcatty. He droops in her arms rather unglamorously, then gets involved in a very drawn-out chirping competition with Vaporeon. She also has a Sableye, but she’s nothing like the shy and scuffed variety that live in caves. This one has been buffed enough to sparkle when the light catches her skin. Dean’s seen a couple of gussied-up Furfrou eye her jealously. 

Bela also has a Raticate. He’s a quiet one, mostly prone to following her, but he makes no sense in this context. Bela’s all perfectly coiffed golden-spun hair, impractical and gorgeous pearl heels, perfectly tailored suits. She has her shit together enough to make up for everyone else in the motley crew she’s defending. It makes no sense for her to have a Raticate. 

“Raticate?” Dean finally asks, one day. “How’d you end up with that one?”

Bela smiles back at him. She smiles a lot, but it doesn’t cross over her entire face. “I’ll tell you the story one day,” is her only answer.

Odd choice in Pokemon aside, Bela is brilliant in the courtroom. Not that there was much of a chance any of the guys who orchestrated the attack on Opelucid would go free, but she gets them maximum sentences. Cas doesn’t go into the trial on the days Michael, Raphael, and Delta are charged, but they end up much lighter sentences; Delta doesn’t get more than a month, and Raphael and Michael less than a year. Thaddeus, though he doesn’t go to prison, ends up losing his security job due to excessive force. “It’s the least I deserve,” he admits to Uriel later.

There’s only one small hitch in the proceedings; as it turns out, Abaddon had a twin sister named Josie, and they’d been estranged for years. Everyone was a bit apprehensive when Josie showed up in the courtroom, but as it turned out, they shouldn’t have been. Josie was so kind and curious and generous, Dean wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that she and Abaddon were once one normal person, split right down the middle into _good_ and _bad_. 

Even her fashion sense was wildly different from her sister’s. She wore old-fashioned, stuffy dresses, in colors that matched her Seaking. The drawings from the courtroom are shocking, two identical faces with completely different vibes even in a mere illustration. If Abaddon wasn’t already going to land in jail for life, Josie’s testimony absolutely sealed her fate.

“She tried to _harpoon_ my Goldeen,” Josie told the courtroom, a dark hush falling over all of them, in a tone of voice so steely Dean would have never expected it from her. Abaddon tried to protest, but Josie had excavated police reports that she’d insisted on keeping confidential at the time, so she had no argument left.

Cas and his siblings gave an equally explosive testimony about Zachariah. Hannah, their eyes like flint, tells the courtroom about the time he looked them in their room for two days straight. Dean cringes through the testimony; he’s heard that story about Hannah before, but it doesn’t make it any easier to hear. Hannah merely lifts their chin by degrees, a challenge in their icicle gaze. 

Dean hadn’t seen Zachariah in person before. He’d been in questioning when Dean got to the police station, but Anna had insisted on going in and talking to him, after a very animated chat with Linda beforehand. She came out shaking, but told them all, “I said my piece,” her tone gone gray. Uriel held out his arms to her, and she slipped into them; she didn’t move away for a very long time.

Zachariah’s still got the irrepressible smile on his face that Dean recognizes from his stupid commercials, but there’s a flatness behind his eyes. He’s hoping there’s a moment of regret lurking back there. But it’s probably just that he got caught.

Dean testifies on one of the last days, against Alastair and Azazel and Lilith. His breath goes wobbly on the stand, but he presses on. They’re all sentenced to life in maximum security. The bang of the judge’s gavel sounds like closure, and he exhales. At last.

“Amazing, Dean,” Charlie says; her voice is worn-out and stretched tight with sadness, but she’s being genuine. She always has been. She hands him Vaporeon, and he clutches the two of them as tightly as he can.

“Glad Uriel as our lawyer would’ve been a conflict of interest,” Victor tells Bela when the trial’s all wrapped up. He’s got both his hands curled around hers. Dean can’t help but smirk. So that’s happening.

“And I’m not?”

Victor pauses at that, though he keeps his hands where they are.

“Azazel and Lilith had a daughter,” Bela explains, very slowly. “She got away a long time ago. She had to make herself from the ground up, and she realized she would treat Pokemon well enough, in some attempt to _start_ to make up for what they did 

Realization dawns across everyone’s face. “Your Raticate,” Dean points out, as the courthouse employees release the Pokemon back to their owners. Bela scoops up the Pokemon in question, and he nuzzles into the space between her shoulder and neck. Several onlookers gape at them, but Bela pays them no mind.

“My brave little runaway,” she says, though there’s not a trace of sentimentality in her voice. It’s simply fact. 

Bela leaves the courthouse not long after that, walking more efficiently in her absurd heels than the rest of the group manages in flat shoes. Dean stares after her.

“I assume you’re not looking to infringe on Victor.” Cas brings him out of his trance. Thankfully, there’s some levity in his voice, though it’s an exhausted sort; it’s been a long few weeks. At this point, Dean’s been staring so long at the spot where she was that he’s left staring at a door, not Bela.

“’Course not,” Dean laughs. He’s come to value his life, after all. “Just thinkin’ about all the lives we don’t know out there. How I helped some of ‘em. How I didn’t.”

Cas loops an arm around Dean’s shoulder, and pulls them out of the way of some extremely nosy photographers. “I won’t be a hypocrite and tell you not to dwell on the past,” he says, “but you did an incredible good today. The world is going to be better for _generations_ because of your testimony, your job in this trial. I want you to remember that.” 

Dean manages a smile. It’s a tired one, but there nevertheless. A camera or two clicks in the background, but Dean doesn’t care. “I can try.”


	9. Chapter 9

Two months after the battle, Dean gets a video call. He accepts it, to find Gabriel and Kali on the other side of the screen, both of them in sweatpants and tank tops. 

“Come to our wedding,” Kali says. Dean hasn’t talked to her much, but the woman’s intimidating as hell. Gabriel waggles her eyebrows and holds up her hand to flash her silver ring. It’s surprisingly understated. 

“I’m gonna be an honest woman!” Gabriel exclaims.

“You’re absolutely not,” Kali counters, accurately, but she’s already tipping Gabriel’s face toward her to cut her off with a kiss. 

“What’s going on?” Cas says, walking out of the kitchen with Staraptor in his arms. He lets her go to place a hand on Dean’s shoulder. 

“Big sis is getting _mar-ried_ ,” Gabe sing-songs, once she stops kissing Kali. 

Cas scrunches up his nose. Dean would estimate it’s half out of confusion, half severe embarrassment at coming out of the kitchen to find his sister sucking face on the webcam. “I didn’t know Anna was dating anyone.” 

“ _Me_ , you unimaginative little dweeb.” Whimsicott hops onto her lap. “Look, save the date. April 5. Village Bridge, if that’s going to be a problem.”

Instantly, Cas’ eyes flick over to Dean. Always so damn concerned. Dean offers up the biggest smile he can, and it’s even mostly genuine. “Not gonna be a problem at all,” he says.

Ever since the Battle of Opelucid – that’s what they’re calling it, it’s going to be in the history textbooks, and Dean or Vaporeon might be a blur in one of the artists’ renditions, all of this is so damn _bizarre_ – Jake pushed hard to get them all free counseling. “Can’t tell you how much it helped me,” he told everyone. “I don’t think I could have fought with you all, nevermind gotten away from Carver when I needed to, without it.”

Dean ended up with a counselor named Missouri. He was expecting to be cynical and dismissive of the whole operation, and get absolutely nothing out of his appointments, but he liked Missouri immediately. She was easy to open up to. She took no shit, but she was warm, and perpetually near-eerily calm. Her Chimecho floated back and forth from window to window in the office, its lazy pace doing wonders to calm the agitation in Dean’s head and gut.

There’s not too many people he’d talk to about missing Mary; it’s too personal, those feelings too hard to dredge up for fear of everything spilling out. But he talks about it with Missouri, who’s stupidly supportive about it. More than Dean deserves.

The wedding wasn’t going to be a problem. It really wasn’t. For one, it was going to take place nowhere near his old house, but instead on the hoity-toity pearl sand beaches on the other end of the town. He would’ve gotten thrown out of those if he’d dared leave one footprint behind in the sand. Might as well have been another world. 

At least that’s what he’s telling himself. He’s better now, there’s no doubt he’s better, but _better_ isn’t _perfect_ and sometimes he knows he’s still just bullshitting. 

Kali and Gabriel chart what’s more or less a yacht to take everyone over to Village Bridge. Kali looks gorgeous, the white of her sari making her skin pop, and Gabriel dressing up in a sailor pin-up outfit complete with hot pants is pretty much the least surprising thing ever. 

“We’re still your _favorite_ couple, right?” Gilda asks him on the way onto the boat. Her eyes are so wide with alarm, Dean’s tempted to chuckle.

“Even though we never ordered you a _boat_ ,” Charlie adds on.

“It ain’t a competition.” 

Charlie whacks him on the arm with a fan. 

“Yes!” he exclaims, instantly.

He’s glad to have pretty much everyone he knows on this boat, too, but his nerves crest more than he was expecting on the ride over. Very stubbornly, the waves push and pull the boat and Dean’s stomach alike up and down, up and down. Dean manages to stay out on the deck with Cas, but he has to keep squeezing his hand. 

“You have a _Water_ Pokemon,” Cas points out, not unkindly. Said Water Pokemon curls her tail against Dean’s ankles, probably in an attempt to soothe his wobbly stomach. Her tail is nice and cool in the beating sun. The attempt doesn’t really work, but he appreciates it. 

“Water Pokemon don’t stop you from _puking_ ,” Dean grumbles. Neither Cas nor Vaporeon, dedicated as hell even when Dean’s talking about barfing, take even a step away. Staraptor soars above their heads; most of the other Flying-type Pokemon found sturdy perches on the ship’s rails, but she’d gone twitchy with boredom when she tried that, so she took off flying instead. 

It was only Claire’s Noibat, little as he was, who flew to the skies with Staraptor. After only a few minutes, he couldn’t really keep up, so Staraptor swooped in and scooped him up on her back. Dean saw Cas and Claire leaning in toward each other and laughing at the sight together. For a minute, the swooping in his stomach became sheer fondness, as opposed to his breakfast threatning to vacate itself. 

The crowd gathered at the wedding is huge. Everyone on their side in the Battle of Opelucid shows up, even people Gabriel only met at the police station afterward. The big shocker on the guest list has to be Naomi; Dean and Cas weather many questions about why she’s there. All they can answer with, honestly, is, “Well, you know Gabriel and her whims.” 

She had warned them about it around the time she invited them to the wedding. “We’ve _talked_ ,” Gabriel explained. “Not exactly letting her walk me down the aisle, but you band together to save the world, and you end up forgiving some shit. Been trying to talk to Raphael and Michael, too. Wish I coulda gotten Raffy a day out of jail, she really ain’t bad when you talk to her one-on-one, but them’s the rules. Michael’s being a little difficult, but I’ll get to ‘im eventually.” 

Dean’s used to it; he even knows the underlying reasons for it. But Gabriel’s casual nature, the way she talks about the most serious of subjects like she’s gliding over a frozen pond, will never cease to stun him. 

“Please don’t tell me you’ve been talking to Zachariah,” Cas says, a strain in his voice.

“Nah, him? Fuck that douchebag.” She points at him on the other side of the computer screen. “Always told you I had good common sense, Cas.” 

The wedding itself is stunning. Dean’s only seen these beaches in photographs before, but he’s been all the way across the Unova continent and he can’t remember seeing anywhere so gorgeous, so pristine. The water looks pretty from anywhere in Village Bridge, but here it’s a shade of azure that might as well have been plucked from the sky on a cloudless day. Lumineon and Horsea visibly flit about beneath its surface. The sand is bleached pale, and gleams in the sunlight. The path to the ceremony is lined with bushes bearing blonde and crimson blossoms.

“They definitely planned this,” Dean mutters to Cas, fingers trailing over one of the cerise blooms. 

“It worked.” 

The ceremony goes off without a hitch, despite the _various personalities_ gathered at the ceremony, and perhaps, more importantly, Gabriel’s involvement. The biggest issue is how loudly Whimsicott cries, big awkward sobs from where he’s cuddled in Hannah’s lap. 

“Happy tears?” Hannah keeps asking, bouncing him on their legs. Whimiscott just nods and wails some more.

Naomi’s sitting far apart from Gabriel and all her siblings, which isn’t surprising. That Dean looks over to catch a couple of tears sliding down her cheeks absolutely is.

Gabriel and Kali’s reception is in one huge tent, tall enough that it towers over Rufus’ Avalugg by what has to be three times its height. Any possible awkwardness that could have come out of the guest list dissipates, turning into the biggest, loudest party Dean’s ever been to. He’s getting too old for this shit, but Gabe keeps running around screaming at people that they’re not having a sufficient amount of fun, so fuck it. Dean’s gonna have fun.

With Gabriel’s permission, Charlie invited a ton of her friends, so the party’s overflowing with geeky kids in cardboard cosplay. She’s also playing god-awful music she sings along with until her voice gets ragged. Dean might recognize some of the songs from his attempts at listening to her mixtapes, but he’s admitting nothing.

“Nice wedding duds,” Dean tells Charlie, nodding his head in the direction of one of her friends walking by. She’s a blonde with pin-thin hair who’s been constantly gushing to Kali all night, when she’s not eyeing Sam like she could devour him alongside the fifteen-tier wedding cake. What really sets her apart, though, are the enormous cotton puffs attached to her brown slip of a dress. She capped her ears with swirly green covers, too; she’s clearly cosplaying as Whimsicott. 

At least that costume probably fucked with Gabriel something awful.

Charlie mock-swats him on the back of the head. “Becky’s nice. A little intense, though.”

“Considering my own, uh, significant other, I guess I can’t talk.”

“No, you can’t.” But Charlie gives him a big smile before she changes the song, saccharine first notes pumping out through the loudspeakers. _Since my heart is golden, I’ve got sense to hold in…_

Taking a very different route from her cosplaying friends, Charlie’s dressed up in some killer blood-red satin sheath, her hair in an elaborate twist that Gilda claimed took hours. It’s quite a change for a girl who lives in cartoon-colored t-shirts and Converse. 

“House colors?” Dean asks, gesturing to her dress. 

Charlie smiles and claps her hands together. “Knew you were gonna get it. Lose the green tie. I think we both know that’s not you.” 

“I’ll get a tie to match your dress, then.”

She levels him with a look. “ _Please_. Why do you think I always said _yellow_ was your color?” 

She’s totally right. Dean can only laugh as he walks away, leaving her with her music and her legions of adoring LARPing underlings. 

Benny volunteered to help prepare the food, and he got stuck in a corner of the tent. He doesn’t seem to mind; he’s whistling and grinning, same as ever. Andrea’s helping him out, and his sister Lenore. Physically, Lenore doesn’t even look like she’s related to Benny. She’s lean and wan and has enormous sorrowful eyes. But most importantly, she has his huge heart. Her Bayleef and Benny’s Herdier charge through the tent floor, playing an interminable game of chase. No one seems to mind.

“This all smells great!” Dean exclaims, clapping a hand against Benny’s shoulder, as he moves into their small area and starts poking his head around.

“Stop buggin’ me, chief,” Benny says, with a warm smile, and dumps a plate of canapés into Dean’s hands. Looks like some kind of froofy mousse thing, but when Dean drops one of them into his mouth, it’s savory and delicious. Benny’s a damn miracle worker.

Still gobbling down the plate of appetizers – he’s preparing to preemptively apologize to Cas for not leaving any food for him, though there’s practically mountains of it around – Dean moves away from the noise, to a smaller table in the reception hall. The majority of the chairs there are empty, turned this way and that, but three people remain at the table. Two of them are Gordon and Kubrick, and they’re actually holding hands. How about that. 

He can’t imagine either of them being friends with Gabriel. She can’t get through a conversation without some terrible joke or an ostentatious guffaw; Dean’s never seen Gordon or Kubrick look anything other than what he would politely call _stormy_. But hey, she invited what seems like half the city to her wedding, and running into the two of them here is a lot better than running into the two of them in training. 

“Hey, guys,” Dean says.

Gordon doesn’t say anything at first; he just takes his hand, still intertwined with Kubrick’s, and places it on the table in full view. If that’s meant to be a challenge, Dean’s pretty sure he’s sort of insulted. But then he sees the glint of gold on Gordon’s hand, and figures that’s what he was intended to see. So he can’t help it, he’s smiling at them. 

“Congrats,” Dean tells them, to a crisp nod in return. From Gordon, that’s a win.

All Gordon actually says in response, though, is, “You almost got your ass kicked by a Magmortar.” Like Dean doesn’t remember. “You have a Vaporeon.” 

“He’s happy to be here, he really is,” the third person in the corner chimes in. It’s Erika, Gordon’s sister, a small smile on her face. She’s still skinny, but she’s grown up a lot, even if Dean’s pretty sure those are the first words she’s ever said to him. Her Helioptile gives him a big sunny grin from his perch on her lap. Dean remembers that Helioptile, the way he’d sit next to Erika, the way Gordon was a real tough-ass but never let Erika take part in a battle.

“Erika,” Gordon warns, without heat in his voice. 

Dean’s never gonna be friendly with Gordon. He thinks that other than Erika and Kubrick, Gordon doesn’t really do _close_ with anyone. But Dean can respect him. He dragged his ass to Opelucid to fight in a battle for the fate of the world. He holds hands with his husband. Even if he wants to dump the entire idea of sentimentality, he’s always been on Dean’s side when it mattered. 

“Good to see you,” Dean says, genuinely. “We should catch up some time.”

“We should.” He thinks Gordon’s being genuine, too. That’s more than alright with him.

Cas, Anna, and many of their siblings have gathered around a big long table that looks hastily cleaned-off for this party. They’re talking in that freaky-close, entirely-too-intense way they’ve all adopted. Most of them, even the ones Dean doesn’t really recognize, nod stiffly at Dean when he approaches and slings an arm around Cas, who doesn’t react to the sudden movement. 

“Not surprised, huh,” Dean whispers into his ear. That, at least, gets a jolt. Good. _Damn_ good.

“I know all about the secrets of sneaking up on people, after all,” Cas says, bone dry. 

Dean only realizes how long they get stuck just _looking_ at each other when he feels a potato chip plop against his shirt front and fall to the floor. 

Gabriel waves wildly at him when he looks up. She’s got her butt in one seat, and her feet up in another. Cas glares at her for the potato chip assault, but she just gives him a simpering smile. “Hey, it’s my wedding, I paid for three nights for all of you guys at The Seafoam, I think I’m entitled,” she says. Dean catches her later, having vacated both of the seats to let Kali sit in one of ‘em and then perch on her lap. Their heads are bent together and they’re – giggling over something, which is a bit disturbing coming from Gabriel.

They really need to stop being so fucking cute.

Cas, on the other hand, is way more than _cute_. The guy practically gave Dean a hernia when he dragged out a three-piece suit, in the perfect shade of charcoal gray to make his eyes pop. Dean keeps having to fix his blue tie, at least, because the guy just can’t help the fact that he’s perpetually disheveled. 

Dean’s been idly wondering, all night, how much the dry cleaning bill would be if they fucked in the suit.

“Have you been mingling,” Cas asks him, though Cas never really has the proper inflection for questions in his voice. 

“I was,” Dean says. There’s just no one else who _fascinates_ him more than Cas; there never has been. 

Cas beams back at him, his wonky smile that makes his heart do all kinds of funny things.

Sam recruited his classmates for Gabriel’s wedding, and even though they’re the right age for this kind of party, most of them keep to themselves at the edge of the dance floor. Amy’s lovely – seriously, Sam got one hell of a catch – but she’s about as adamant on the _no dancing_ thing as Cas is. And the less said about Ava and Ruby’s attempt to dance, the luminescent lights from Ava’s Malamar’s body flashing over them, the better, in Dean’s opinion. 

“At least we’re having _fun_ ,” Ruby insists. The two of them, arms pumping in the air, head off to dance with Charlie’s nerdy-ass friends. Their dancing is even _worse_ , a sort of desperate thrashing with wild abandon accompanied by spilling their drinks until the floor gets sticky. Dean can spy Becky trying to dance with her Munna while that goddamn “Call Me Maybe” song plays. 

They are right, though. They’re having fun. The joy contained in the Opelucid police station that one afternoon, it’s all been released here, the tension worked out of its joints and leaving it with nothing but exhilaration. 

“Lookin’ great!” Dean shouts out to Bobby, whirling around the dance floor in his wheelchair. They’ve gotten together a few times in the past couple of months, and idly discussed building something again over coffee with generous portions of whiskey poured in. They both like keepin’ their hands busy. Dean thought the attack might leave Bobby even more bitter than he had been before, but he was completely wrong. Bobby got a whole new lease on life.

“Hopin’ to have you and Cas throw one of these in the future!” Bobby hollers across the dance floor. Way too many people hear that; Dean feels his temperature racket up a couple of degrees, and his skin is probably turning ferociously pink under his freckles. 

Truth is, though, he doesn’t mind it at all. It’s coming, and he knows it even if he hasn’t been with Cas for all that long. Because if he knows one thing above all, more than tasteful rings and big parties with unthinkably beautiful backdrops, it’s that Cas is _it_ for him. His flush drains away, but a small smile remains on his face. 

Dean’s been distracted for a bit, but now that he returns his full attention to the table, Cas and his siblings are clearly in the middle of some good-natured argument. Gabriel’s charging her way through this debate, unsurprisingly. 

“Okay, so my adopted bro and sis are damn _legendary Pokemon_ ,” she’s saying. She’s way too loud, but no one’s paying attention. “It doesn’t mean I can’t be awesome too. And come on, they’re _dragons_. Whimsicott could kick their ass any day.”

“As much as Whimsicott is a delight, I would absolutely not hesitate to Flamethrower him,” Castiel says, nonchalant. 

“Is that what you call it when you try to make chili?” Gabriel totally deserves the wadded-up napkin Cas tosses at her head, even if it is her wedding. 

Kali, trailed by her Rapidash, stands up over Gabriel and works her fingers into Gabe’s short hair. It’s still a mess, but Dean figures it wouldn’t be very true to character if Gabriel suddenly showed up looking immaculate. “Sweetheart, they’re supposed to be the ones roasting _you_ at your wedding.” 

“Always thought that was a stupid tradition,” Gabriel returns, cheerfully.

Kali stifles a laugh.

The actually-familiar first dramatic notes of “Heads Will Roll” pump from the speakers. Dean’s not a bit surprised to hear Charlie’s shriek of joy from the DJ booth. He catches a glimpse of her, later, practically throwing herself on the dance floor while Gilda, God bless her, just tries to keep up. 

_Sam’s_ made his way to the dance floor, too. Amy’s got her arms up in the air in glee, while he shuffles around her. He ain’t dancing, but he’s sure as hell trying. 

“This is too good,” Dean chuckles, holding up his phone to snap a picture. Blackmail material forever. When he looks back at Cas, he’s already smiling at Dean. “What?” 

“When we first LARPed with Charlie, you said I didn’t know how to have fun,” Cas says. “At the time, I don’t think you were much better. Look at you now.”

Dean does look. He sees all these people, all these people he loves, all these people he loves so happy – and he’s suddenly making his way out of the tent, pushing friends and strangers alike out of the way, because it feels too damn small.

Outside, the night is perfect, a multitude of stars visible now that he’s far away from a city. The ocean laps at the shore, gentle and beautiful. Dean kind of hates it at the moment.

He sinks down on the sand, and he’s not at all surprised when he feels another weight at his side only a few beats later. “What happened?” Cas says. His tone’s confused, but it’s not angry.

Dean laughs, and picks up a handful of sand to hurl at the sea. Vaporeon has been silently trailing him this entire night, but she finally takes up residence at his feet. “Nothin’ bad. It’s all good. That’s just it. Everyone’s happy. I’m happy. And I don’t know what to do with that. I lost you. I lost _Vaporeon_. I shouldn’t have come back from that, and I don’t know what I did to deserve that, or any of this –”

“Dean,” Cas interrupts, firm but kind. “Good things do happen.” 

Dean turns to look at him, instead of the cold sea. Cas looks good, no little wrinkle between his eyes, smile barely turning up the corners of his lips. “Not to me,” Dean says. “I don’t know what to do with my whole life out there in front of me. I’ll keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, I know it, Cas.” 

Cas takes his hand. He does this a lot. Dean loves it, loves the way it can center the two of them around this small point of intimacy. “When the other shoe dropped for me,” Cas says, “I ran away. I _bolted_. I couldn’t handle it. I was a coward.” 

“But you came back.”

“Yes. Because I didn’t know what to do with my whole life out there in front of me, either. I knew I didn’t want to spend it without you.” 

“Uh, I hope you know this,” Dean says, unable to meet Cas’ face, “but same.” It’s harder than telling Cas he loves him, somehow.

Cas just squeezes Dean’s hand. “We’ve got a lot of time,” Cas says, the words a promise. “We’ll make it up as we go.”

The sea is still swooping up to meet the shore, rising and falling like breath itself. The sky is glitter spackled on a black canvas. In the background, Dean can hear the music, something with an upbeat rhythm, playing from the tent.

He doesn’t say anything in return. He just squeezes Cas’ hand in return, reaches his legs out so Vaporeon’s pushed up against his calf, and lets the peace of the moment work its way through him.

He’s gonna have many others. The idea’s getting less terrifying.

*

Gabe and Kali paid for everyone to spend four full days at The Seafoam, the resort on Village Bridge. As Gabe’s been gleefully telling them all, “You’d better be nice to me, or I’ll send you to _Desert_ Resort.” He knew she wouldn’t go through with it, because she couldn’t show off in that case. Plus, Desert Resort was far less likely to cater enormous platters of candy for her to munch on. 

If the wedding was ridiculous, the hotel is exponentially so. Dean’s not sure that if he pooled everything he owns in the world together, it’d be worth the price of just a couple of nights at this place. There’s a pool in the courtyard that stretches long enough that Dean’s pretty certain it could count as a major body of water, and he keeps having to fish Vaporeon out so he doesn’t end up with an awful sunburn from staying outside for too long. The entire place is flawless cream marble, the floors speckled with gold and sea green, and the views take Dean’s breath away. Begrudingly, he’ll also admit that the bed here is far more comfortable than his or Cas’ back in Opelucid; it’s practically a cloud.

The Seafoam also has adjoining rooms for Pokemon. They’re perfectly tailored to the needs of individual Pokemon ahead of their stay, and they provide the best food possible, water, and a 24/7 video feed for their owners. It’s one hell of a luxury, but the biggest luxury these rooms provide is _privacy_ for the Pokemon owners.

Cas’ kisses are hot enough that Dean feels like plumes of smoke should be rising off his skin wherever his lips fall. His hands rove Dean’s body, no path in mind, but Dean still puffs out a happy exhale as those hands ruck up his shirt. Cas’ palms cup the slight excess flesh on Dean’s stomach; Dean’s never seen any reason to be self-conscious about it, but Cas can’t get his hands off it.

Dean wants to pull back a bit, whisper actual _words_ to Cas, tell him just how much he means, this means. Instead, he ends up kissing it all into his mouth. He tells Cas in his own way, winding his hand around the back of Cas’ neck and brushing his thumb against the whorls of his hair; he tells Cas when he traces Cas’ tongue with his own.

They’ve had sex since the battle of Opelucid; they’ve been insatiable for each other. But Sam and Amy have been staying at their apartments, so they’re understandably trying to avoid any kind of awkward scene. It’s been rushed moments, slippery jerking each other off in the shower or Dean holding Cas’ hips against a door to suck him off. 

They haven’t had time for this, spreading each other out and going slow. Dean luxuriates in anything that’s more than just the two of them hustling to get out of their clothes. Hell, he appreciates that too, but he _really_ appreciates his back pushed against a bed, Cas tracing his fingers along every bit of his body. 

“Fuck me,” Dean moans, letting his legs open, easy. There might have been a time he was ashamed of doing that, but not with Cas. Not ever with Cas, who still touches him like a precious thing. Not something delicate, Cas knows better than that, but something, someone, with a lot of value.

It’s no different when Cas works his fingers into Dean’s hole. “Harder,” Dean grumbles, trying to push Cas’ fingers deeper, but Cas is so goddamn methodical about it that Dean knows he’s getting fucked strictly on Cas’ schedule. He’s completely fine with that, more than fine with the way Cas’ fingers splay him open and wanting, the way they warm him up. 

Two of Cas’ fingers push against Dean’s prostate at that very moment, and he’s arching off the bed almost entirely. It’s not quite fireworks, not yet, not from just one touch; he ain’t _that_ easy. But a low hum makes his body vibrate, hungry and craving more but content to bask here too.

He’s half-coherently able to register the hungry way Cas’ eyes swoop over the arc of his body and use it to his advantage. “Come on, Cas,” he urges. 

Doesn’t take much more convincing.

Dean lives for the first few seconds of this, when Cas isn’t all the way inside. He’s so warm and thick at the tip, just breaching Dean, and try as he might to slip back onto Cas’ cock Dean suddenly has Cas holding him down firmly at the hips with just one hand. Dean feels surrounded everywhere: Cas’ other hand speared through his hair, their eyes locked in contact, their skin slipping against each other. He’s ready at the place he’ll take Castiel into him.

Cas doesn’t make him wait long. He pushes inside, one long exhale moving as he does. Every time, Dean’s shocked anew by how the sensation of Cas inside him flips from the burn and the stretch to pure pleasure, the kind that fissions down his spine and makes his thighs ache. 

“You’re here,” Dean says, placing a hand of his own between Cas’ shoulder blades as he looks right up into his eyes. “You’re here.”

“ _Dean_ ,” is all Cas can say. It’s enough to tilt the world in front of Dean.

It’s a weird thought, but his mind can’t help but picture sunny days with Vaporeon splashing in the sea, and Staraptor flying overhead, pretending to be above it all but not-so-secretly loving every moment of it. Him and Cas holding hands together, watching it all happen. They’re there. 

They’re here. 

“What are you waiting for,” Dean gasps in return, big grin on his face. “Fuck me, c’mon.” 

Every thrust Cas takes turns Dean’s entire body into wracked shivers of pleasure. Cas’ dick is so long and perfectly curved enough to hit Dean _there_ over and over again. Cas can be gentle as he wants, but Dean is still left clutching the bedsheets and hanging on for the ride, stuttering out moans with every pump of Cas’ seriously fucking awesome hips. 

Dean grabs Cas’ hand and places it on his belly, palm down, and then laces his own on top, holding them together against his gut. “We’re here,” Dean breathes, in a voice so raspy he can’t believe it’s coming from him. 

He wants Cas all over him, even in his most vulnerable bits. Maybe even especially that. He needs that warmth, the comfort that ticks his heart rate up and sends blood pumping through him all the same. Cas is his craving, something sunk into the marrow of his bones from the moment they met. He’s a map and a compass all at once, all of it bringing him home.

“Come for me,” Dean rasps. He wants Cas, all of Cas. He _does_ want to feel him inside. He wants, he wants, he wants, so much the sheer joy and seeming decadence could push him right into an orgasm all on its own. 

Cas’ face goes slack at Dean’s words. He gleams, too; it’s present in the sweat on his forehead curling his hair, the wetness on his lip from running his tongue over it, the brightness in his eyes. He leans in to kiss Dean, as he empties inside him, long, measured gushes. 

It makes Dean’s ass a mess. He fucking loves it.

His entire body’s a mess. He’s quivering, his hands can’t get a good grip on the sheets, Cas’ release is seeping down his leg, and he doesn’t care. He manages to claw his fingers into Cas’ hair, his head – his lips – going lower and lower – 

Moving his hands up to cradle Dean’s hips, Cas slips his tongue against the head of Dean’s cock. Dean comes immediately, a ratatat of an orgasm. Every single time he comes with Cas, he thinks it can’t ever get better. It does.

“I’m not usually so quick on the draw,” Dean says a little sheepishly, once he’s recovered. But Cas is already sliding all the way up his body so they’re face to face. 

“I came first,” Cas reminds him. But he’s smiling at him, and then they’re kissing. 

Dean never minded the taste of himself in someone else’s mouth, but this is part of him clinging to _Cas_ , and it’s a whole ‘nother ballgame. It isn’t about possessiveness, but settling into someone. His hands settle at Cas’ hips, like a reminder. His fingertips brush the lines of bone that stick out there, and he feels the goosebumps pimple up in response. He wishes they could sink in entirely.

*

The next few days and nights are _awesome_. 

They beg out of the hike through a small jungle near the beach on the second day – “I never did hiking, Sam can back me up on that,” Dean protested – and spend the whole afternoon in bed. Cas gets the genius idea for them to suck each other off at the same time.

“I’m not flexible enough for this,” Dean complains, trying to stretch out his legs.

“That’s my _chin_ , Dean.” He can _feel_ the exasperated look Cas is shooting him. Those looks are only made slightly more ridiculous by the fact that Cas is also completely naked, and his dick’s very interested in the proceedings. 

Dean complains a lot, but when he has Cas’ thighs cradling his head at the same time Cas’ tongue laps his dick, when they’re tied together in an endless feedback loop, he has to admit the guy’s been right all along. 

On the morning of the third day, there’s a knock on their door. 

“Cleaning staff doesn’t come around until one,” Dean murmurs. It’s just after ten AM, and they don’t leave for Opelucid again for another ten hours. “Want me to go check it out?”

“Sure.” Cas is lolling on the bed in just a t-shirt and boxers. Dean takes a moment to look at him. They let the Pokemon into the room, and Vaporeon is snoozing on the bed too, which gives Dean all sorts of domestic feelings in his gut, but he can’t help the sheer lust when he sees Cas like this. 

It’s just a t-shirt and boxers, that’s _normal_ , Dean tries to tell himself, but it’s not too often that Cas has this few layers of clothing on, and certainly not often that he rolls back and forth with it, rucking up his clothing. The shirt’s hitching up around his stomach, which is much tighter than Dean’s but still shudders easily when he speckles kisses over it, and Dean can see one long bump of hipbone and just enough of the dark line of hair that moves down below the elastic waistband. It would be so easy to roll that waistband down and take in exactly what’s under there –

The knock on the door repeats itself. Probably a good thing, yeah.

Dean tiptoes to the door. Without looking through the peephole – which is stupid, stupid, stupid of him – he opens the door wide, to find the too-serious figure of Naomi standing there. 

“Don’t shut the door,” she says. Even her tone’s demanding, which is fuckin’ rich after everything. Dean hears Cas hustling to sit up in bed down the hallway once he recognizes that voice. “I come in peace.” 

“You realize the aliens that say that are always secretly out to enslave the world, right?” Dean doesn’t welcome her in. But he doesn’t shut the door, either. He notices Flagstaff, a little ways down the hallway outside their room, her arms crossed in front of her. Her Garchomp’s slumped lazily against the wall, back firm against it and fin arms drooping down. His pose would stand in hilarious contrast to his owner if the situation wasn’t so fraught. 

Naomi chews on her lip for a moment. It’s not a very Naomi gesture; this must be serious. “There’s another thing I wasn’t telling you.”

Dean rolls his eyes enormously. Naomi would probably be well within her rights to leave this conversation because of that, but he doesn’t particularly care. “Let me guess. Am I Shaymin? I hope so. I look pretty damn good in green and hey, don’t tell anyone I said this, but that flower’s adorable.” Flagstaff’s moved one of her crossed arms to stifle a laugh in the background. Probably not the worst sign.

“Nothing like that,” Naomi continues. “There’s something you need to see. It’s a bit of a ride, but the hotel lent me a large van.” Of course they did. This place is nuts. “I’d prefer if it was just you and your brother, though I suspect you won’t settle for that.”

“You’re right.”

“I’m for your protection, not hers,” Flagstaff adds. Garchomp shakes himself awake at Flagstaff’s words, slicing his arm fins back and forth through the air like flags on display. Not really as intimidating as it could be when he was practically taking a nap at the wall a couple of seconds earlier. 

“We’re taking Anna,” Cas says, walking up behind Dean and putting a hand on his shoulder. Dean places his own hand over it. “I’d take Gabe as well, because she’s the one who _figured you out_ , but she’s likely busy. And a long van ride with her would be fun for no one but Kali.” 

Dean realizes those are the first words Cas has said to Naomi since the big battle. He squeezes Cas’ hand under his.

Anna’s room is a couple of floors down. The elevator’s made almost entirely of glass, the type where you can look through the big window in front and see gilded floor after gilded floor rise or sink in front of you. 

All this means for Dean, though, is that he has to spend a very awkward elevator ride with Flagstaff and her Garchomp. He trusts Flagstaff, she just doesn’t do niceties.

“Do you know what this is about?” Dean says, breaking the interminable silence, when they’re about halfway there. It’s the first words any of them have said to each other on this elevator ride. 

Flagstaff grimaces. “I know the general idea, yes.” 

“You know – after he found out about the Latios thing, and what Naomi had done, he kinda freaked. I don’t think you or I would blame him for that. Some heads-up would be nice this time around.” There’s another long pause in their conversation. Vaporeon, seemingly unbothered by any of this, bounces around in a circle around Garchomp.

“It’s nothing like that. This one isn’t about Castiel,” she says, at last. Her tone is measured, and clearly thought-out. “It’s about you. And your family.” 

Dean doesn’t want to react. He doesn’t. But he finds himself squeezing his eyes shut, willing himself not to do anything stupid in the glass elevator anyone could look up and see into. He won’t punch the wall; he wouldn’t even get the satisfaction of shattering the glass against his fist, he’d only look seriously off-kilter and Flagstaff would have every right to sic Garchomp on him. He won’t cry, not where it’s visible, won’t crack himself open like that where the only things to see it are one of Cas’ multitude of siblings that he doesn’t know very well and her incredibly powerful Pokemon. 

“We gotta get Sam and Amy then too,” is all he says once he opens his eyes.

When they return to Dean’s own floor, thankfully, nothing catastrophic or even somewhat off-kilter seems to have happened. They all crowd into the van after that, though Anna and Flagstaff get their own van to tail them. “We’re for backup,” Anna tells Cas in a low voice before she heads off.

They all crowd into the van. Naomi wasn’t kidding; the thing is huge. It’s more like a bus, and it easily fits all five of them and their Pokemon. Naomi drives for a long time, and there’s not a lot of talking. Her Gothitelle stares back at them, as if challenging them to speak up. Dean looks out the window, disheartened by how little of Village Bridge he recognizes now.

Eventually, Dean leans backward so he can talk to Sam. “Sorry I kinda dragged you along,” he mutters. “I know you like your beauty sleep. Need it to keep the hair lovely and shiny.” 

“I hate you so much,” Sam grumbles right back.

Dean offers him his biggest smile, the one he knows is way too much, with all his teeth. “Nah, you don’t,” he says. The smile drops. “Look, I – I’m bringin’ you along because Flagstaff told me that she knows the basic details. And it’s gotta do with us.”

“Us?” Sam repeats.

“I don’t know what, exactly. Wish I did.”

“Last big _family secret_ summoned the Swords of Justice,” Sam points out. He’s already pulling a face. “We got lucky they were on our side. Maybe you should’ve gotten more details.”

Dean toes at the floor of the van. “Maybe,” he admits. “We know how to deal with it.”

“That we do.” Sam lets out a big, showy sigh. _Brothers_.

When the van finally stops, they’re still a way out of the city proper. Dean has to blink against the sun’s glare when they all pile out of the van, though Flagstaff and Anna remain in theirs. They’ve all driven up in front of a huge park, and though Dean can see many Pokemon and a couple of people in the distance, what really calls his attention is the sign over the elaborate gate leading inside.

 _The Mary Winchester Pokemon Sanctuary_ , it reads, in easy black script. 

There’s no possible reaction Dean can even think of. He can’t do anything but goggle up at the sign until the letters go blurry. When Dean does manage to wrench his eyes away, Sam’s by his side. His mouth pops open and closed again like a fish. 

“I should have told you about this when I first met you,” Naomi says. She reaches into her the pocket of her usual neat pantsuit, and pulls out a polaroid. “Doubt Anna or Flagstaff remember this.” Her voice is soft.

There are five women in the picture. Two of them are a much younger Anna and Flagstaff; they must be teenagers here. Flagstaff is holding a Gible out in front of her, balancing his tubby little body against her own slim stomach, and Anna doesn’t even have her Pokemon yet. The third girl is Hester, another one of Cas’ siblings, and the one who keeps to herself the most. Dean only met her briefly at the wedding. She’s got a Haxorus now, but it’s only a Fraxure here, the gleam off his axe jaw a bright blotch in the photo.

That’s not really what calls Dean’s attention, though. That’s all on the two older women. One of them is Naomi, serious as ever, her Gothielle solemn behind her. And the other woman – it’s his mom. 

Mary Winchester beams right back at Dean. She’s got her Leafeon in her arms, and he’s shooting a wide grin at the camera too. The picture is creased and faded, taken likely decades ago, but Mary still radiates warmth.

“I wasn’t close to your mom, or your dad either,” Naomi explains. “But – I did know them. Your mom trained with me sometimes.”

“My mom worked to take care of hurt Pokemon, she wasn’t a trainer,” Sam says, full of skepticism. But his eyes keep flicking back down to the picture.

Naomi offers an uncomfortable shrug. “I’m sorry I’m the one to tell you this, but she did both. She took care of all the Pokemon she could, but your mom was smart; she was practical. I admired that. She knew something was coming. She trained that Leafeon a lot.”

Dean remembers a couple of times as a kid when he tried to keep a Butterfree or Beedrill drifting through their backyard away from Leafeon. His mom just laughed gently at his attempt, even when he pointed out that those Pokemon had not just one but two types that were strong against Grass-types like Leafeon. “I don’t think Leafeon has to worry about that,” Mary told him, and it only makes sense now, decades later. 

“I didn’t get along with your father,” Naomi says, and Dean suspects this may be the understatement of the century. “I don’t know how seriously he took Mary’s training, but when she – passed – he fell completely into the conspiracies she was working to fight.”

There’s a while before anyone says anything. When Dean manages to find words again, his voice is wobbly. “Do you know – did Lucas Christopher and all of his underlings, are they responsible for the fire –” 

Naomi purses her lips a couple of times. “No one could prove it definitively. But some of his associates were in the area. There were other abrupt deaths throughout Unova for others we knew or suspected were investigating him. Your father stopped by my training center a few times, demanding _artifacts_.” She shakes her head. “I had no idea what he was looking for, but – I guess he found them. He was trying to get Mary back, he was trying – in retrospect, I think he was trying to stop Lucas Christopher from getting to the Distortion World at all.”

Dean thinks of his storage locker, full of junk now and completely inaccessible without the key anyway. All the figurines of legendary Pokemon in there who glowered at him. 

Naomi looks right at Dean and Sam. Dean doesn’t know what’s coming next, but what she actually says sure wasn’t it. “I don’t say this much, but I’m sorry, Dean, Sam. I didn’t know Mary like I could have, but she was an amazing trainer. More than that, she was an amazing person. John – it couldn’t have been easy to lose your father, too.”

A lemon of a smile spreads over Dean’s face. Gallows humor.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this until now, Cas. Anna, too. I’m sorry for… everything. I’m just sorry. There’s so much I wish I could change.”

“It’s the past,” Anna says, standing by the van, voice tight. “Lots of things I wish I could change, too. What’s past is past. I’m here for the future, now.” 

With a nod to the group, Naomi pushes open the gate and heads into the main part of the park. It’s beautiful, it really is, sweeping gentle hills of green interrupted only by placid pools of water and sprouting tree groves. The place is serene and picturesque enough that it’d fit on the grounds of their hotel back at the beach. Almost any Pokemon could find a home here. 

Dean’s terrified.

Cas gets a hand on his back. “Are you alright?” he asks. Dean whooshes out an enormous breath at the reminder that Cas is here.

“I’m not sure,” Dean says, honestly. 

Wordlessly, they follow Naomi into the large, cozy-looking farmhouse near the entrance to the reserve. Inside, the place is decorated with gorgeous mahogany and ornately carved chairs. Fancy as it is, Dean can see the nicks on the wood here and there. Everything in this case was carved by hand, and he can respect that.

What calls Dean’s attention, though, are the two women sitting behind the desk. A lazy Tauros flicks its three tails, completely ignoring the Manectric that keeps ramming into his feet. 

“Howdy,” the older woman greets. Dean’s never been struck by such a maternal vibe from someone before, and it makes something funny twist in him. She’s way more rough-and-tumble than his mom would have ever been, wearing plaid and talking in an accent with a twang, but she’s around the age his mom would’ve been if she was still alive.

Naomi gets as much of a smile on her face as she ever does. “All of you, I want you to meet Ellen and Tamara.” 

The other woman seems strictly business, but still offers up a smile. “The Winchester boys, and… company. We’ve heard about you, and we’ve been wondering when you were going to visit us here.” This is surreal. This is _so_ fucking surreal. 

“I’m sorry,” Sam says. His eyes are still wild. “Can someone explain – what the hell is going on?” Well, at least somebody asked the question. 

Ellen sighs, and walks out from behind the desk. The Tauros follows her rather lethargically. “Pull out the stools, ladies and gents. It’s story time.” They don’t know Ellen at all, but there’s a bit of a dash to grab the homemade stools and find their way up on them. Ellen doesn’t seem like the kind of woman you disobey, ever.

She pauses to drag out a stool of her own, then sits on it. Her pose is awkward, legs practically splayed, which makes Dean like her immediately despite himself. She tells them, with big gestures throughout, “You know your mom volunteered with Pokemon most of the time, right? Well, where do you think she worked? Place was a lot smaller back then, of course. Explained why she dragged so many of ‘em home with her. She had a big heart, your mom. After she – well, after that tragedy happened, it leveled the whole damn place. Me, and a couple of the other workers, decided to use that insurance money for somethin’ useful, somethin’ real good. People kept coming, and it grew. Here we are now.”

Everyone’s quiet. Dean’s got no idea what the hell he could possibly say. An entire new world, it seems, has sprung up in the name of Mary Winchester. Dean didn’t really know his mom, not as a person, but – he’s sure this is what she’d want.

“This place doesn’t only feel like it’s for lost Pokemon,” Tamara explains. “The job here saved me. I’m from Opelucid, and I never knew my mom, or my dad. I was married, but my husband… well, I hear you’re from Opelucid too, you know what happens there. The crazy hunts for Dragon-type Pokemon… after I lost him, I lost myself. I was so angry for so long, so damn long.”

Dean gets it; he definitely relates. He thinks of the way he lived for months after Dad died and it looked like Sam was out of his life for good, and how he poured himself into designing with Bobby while hardly saying a word to him. How many blueprints were perfectly fine, only for Dean to tear them to shreds and leave them all across his apartment floor, because something was wrong, so fucking wrong. 

Only it might’ve been worse for Tamara. Eventually, he found people that supported him. Too many would’ve reduced her to nothing but a stereotype. 

Tamara’s picked up her Manectric. His coat is spiky, and almost all Electric-types have skin laced with static electricity, but she still cradles him to her. His eyes loll shut in satisfaction. “Found the sanctuary when I was looking for work. _Sanctuary_ is right. The people and the Pokemon here, they’ll cure you, they’ll _save_ you, if you let ‘em.”

Dean’s no longer white-knuckling it so badly. He doesn’t need _saving_ any more. But peace, peace is pretty good. Even with Cas next to him, he still wakes up sometimes from wrecking nightmares where Vaporeon washes up on the shores cold and white and still all over again. Missouri’s helped, a lot, but those dreams will only go away at his own pace. 

“Take you on a tour,” Ellen says. Dean’s not sure if it’s an interrogative or imperative statement, but with Ellen, he’s just gonna assume everything’s the latter.

Naomi stays behind, and Dean can be thankful for small favors. They crowd into Ellen and Tamara’s safari-style vans, along with another worker introduced as Ellie and her tiny, adorable Joltik. “With the name, Ellen had to hire me, right,” she deadpans as she starts up the car, and even though she doesn’t talk much Dean likes her immediately. When the vans take off, everyone ends up grabbing onto the nearest solid part of the car; these fuckers move fast, and the ground here isn’t made for cars driving over it. 

Despite the inauspicious start, the tour’s incredible. The grounds of the sanctuary are amazing, sure, but more than that, there’s just so many damn Pokemon. The water in the ponds is clear as plexiglass, and Dean has to put a hand on Vaporeon’s back so she doesn’t jump right in to swim alongside the Magikarp and Milotic alike. The fields are big enough to hold whole herds of Pokemon. The van whizzes right by a pack of plodding Ursaring, their baby Teddiursas moving a little faster around their feet. A cluster of Gogoat watch their Skiddo offspring clash their tiny horns together, again and again. There’s a herd of Lickitung, making a completely ridiculous sight with their looming tongues and wobbly gait. Even when the Mankeys living high up in a patch of trees try and throw some nuts at the vans, everyone just ends up laughing. It’s easy to be in a good mood here. 

“Jo!” Ellen hollers, as the vans circle their way around a group of undulating Scolipede, rolling along their Whirlipede offspring as they move. Most of the Scolipede, too, have a couple of Venipede clinging to them, except for the biggest one. Dean does a double-take when he sees him, because there’s a girl riding on his back. She dismounts as they grow closer, and waves wildly. “That’s my daughter.”

The sun catches her golden hair. She seems like the type of girl who’s equally at place on Village Bridge’s perfect beaches, and charging through a herd of enormous horse bugs.

Jo takes over the tour from there. “I see you met Ellie,” she says, jostling the other girl with a shoulder. “I promise my mom didn’t only hire her for the name.” So they’ve got their share of running jokes here, too.

Ellie smiles at that, for the first time. It’s a shy, but warm smile, in contrast to Jo’s big toothy grin. “Everyone says I’m more like Tamara. I lost my family too. Like – uh –” _Like you too_ are the unspoken words. God, it should be so fucking weird to know absolutely everybody here knows all of his business, that they all knew about him before he had any clue about all of this, but – it isn’t. They know it all, like Cas, and they’re not running away screaming. 

“It’s alright,” he tells her. He’s been saying it his whole life, until it was a mantra, but it’s only lately that he’s actually coming to mean it. “It – sucks. If anyone knows that, it’s me.” 

For Ellie’s part, she just releases an enormous exhale, gives Dean a wide smile, and continues leading him on the tour.

“That’s Krissy, another one of our workers,” Ellie introduces. Krissy looks a few years younger than Jo, and she’s wearing heavy burlap overalls as she tills over the area where a couple of Trubbish are clumped together. Her Farfetch’d is helping best he can, poking at the moist ground with his leek sword.

“Hey!” Krissy calls back. “Slow down! Look at the old man’s shirt!” 

Dean realizes she’s talking about him, and he doesn’t even have time to get offended because he realizes that under the overalls, Krissy’s wearing the exact same shirt as him. She starts guffawing, and he picks it right up. 

Michael’s another young staff member, really just a kid. They find him trudging through a swampy area, inspecting a group of Rhyhorn huddled in a mud pit and shooing away bothersome Yanma. Even though his name makes Cas pull a face, briefly, this Michael is nothing like Cas’ shitty brother. 

“I got a brother too,” Michael says, when Sam and Dean introduce themselves. “Asher. Only in the eighth grade, but he helps out sometimes.” 

Later, when they’re all back in the central house and Michael’s shucked the wading boots and cover-up, he shows Dean a picture of him and Asher together in front of the gate. Thinking about Mary helping another family is strangely perfect. They’re both grinning toothily, though Asher’s mouth is silver with braces. Dean elbows Sam about their twin sandy bowl haircuts. 

“Working with my brother’s a pain in the ass,” Michael grumbles, “but I’m not giving it up any time soon.”

Neither Sam or Dean knows how to react to that one; it’s probably still a thorny issue. When they’re heading away from Michael, though, they both end up nodding at each other in some sort of acknowledgement. 

My friggin’ _brother_ , Dean thinks. But he’s smiling when he thinks it, not rolling his eyes with all his might.

The nurse on staff is the last person they meet. It’s probably a good sign she doesn’t seem very hassled. She’s wearing the standard Nurse Joy costume, sure, with its candy pink dress, apron, and silly hat perched atop her head, but almost every Joy wears a wig and a similar beatific smile to boot. They all look very similar.

Not the case with this nurse. Her dark hair is free and in loose curls, and she’s pulled a leather jacket on over the uniform. Her default expression suggests she’s seconds away from telling some filthy joke. She’s accompanied by a slinky Liepard, too, when Dean’s never seen another nurse across all of Unova who had anything other than a Chansey, Blissey, or Happiny. 

“This is Meg,” Tamara introduces. The nurse isn’t even going by Joy, then. “Dean, Sam, Cas, Amy.”

Meg positively rakes her eyes over both Dean and Cas. “Hello, boys,” she purrs.

“Not on the menu,” Tamara adds. 

Meg’s gaze snaps over to something far less – well, predatory. “Well then. Damn my unimpeachable morals!” she mock-cries, and they all laugh. 

From that point on, they get along great. Meg _does_ love her dirty jokes and ridiculous innuendo, but she’s also smart and tough as hell and is entirely serious about her job when the situation requires it. In the weeks to come, Dean will watch her waltz right through panicked herds of Tauros and Bouffalant to find one of them that broke his leg and has been moaning loudly enough to hear it from the main hub. When she walks through the herd, they easily part for her. 

“Don’t act like you’re not impressed,” she says with a triumphant smirk. 

After a couple of hours, Ellie and Jo complete the long circle around the grounds. “Please,” Ellie tells them, “feel free to spend more time exploring the sanctuary. On Tamara and Ellen’s orders, take as much time as you want.”

“Mom’s word is law,” Jo adds with a smile. “And if any of you are interested in working here like us stiffs…”

Dean – well, truth be told, he might be. But before Jo can finish what she was going to say, or Dean can speak up, Ellen and Tamara walk out of the little farmhouse, smiles on both their faces. He’s not sure whether to be relieved or terrified at that prospect.

“Sam, Dean? We got somethin’ to show you,” Ellen says. Okay, so he should have been terrified. The two of them take a step forward, but Cas and Amy are right at their heels. Tamara chuckles at that.

“Alright. At least you all get along great. Come with us.” 

It’s not a long walk, though they didn’t pass by this on the main tour, and it leads them to a little fenced-in area that looks more like a farm than any other part of the sanctuary. A couple of other Tauros are in there, grazing on the field and swishing their tails to and fro; there’s scattered laughter when Ellen’s Tauros rears up to get his front hoofs on top of the fence and make low, groaning noises at the other Tauros.

Ellen pushes open the gate to the fence. Her Tauros hops right down and joins her again. He’s a big guy, but he’s gotta trot pretty fast to keep up with her rapid pace. “We like to think of these guys as our inaugural Pokemon,” she explains. Dean feels something funny in his throat, his gut, behind his eyes, when she says that, but before he can ask her who these inaugural Pokemon are, he finds himself directly in front of them.

Though the years have been kind to him, his foliage has seen better days; it’s all mottled and looks outright crunchy at the edges in places. Dean doesn’t blame anyone for not being able to give the guy a haircut when necessary, but first things first, he’s getting him a good long weekend at a Pokemon spa.

Dean tries not to get too excited. Leafeon might not be very common Pokemon, but they’re not legendaries either; it could be a different Leafeon. But then there’s the little constellation of freckles on Leafeon’s face – two twin triangles that Mom always called his angel wings – and Dean’s crumpling to his knees so that the little guy can rush at him.

Fuck it, he’s totally crying. It’s this day, and that picture of his mom, and the nightmares about losing Vaporeon, and Cas comforting him, it’s all fuckin’ coming out. His tears leave long jagged stripes in Leafeon’s shaggy grass coat. And he doesn’t even care. It feels kind of _awesome_ , just the tiny krill of _leeeeaf_ the only noises he can hear. 

“Hey, girl. Hey.” It’s Sam’s voice, and when Dean picks his head up, he sees his brother is risking that ever-present static electricity to stroke the jagged mane of a Zebstrika. This one has the scar under her ear, big enough to pass for another lightning bolt pattern across her fur, that Dean can remember. She had it even when Dean was born. 

“How did you –” Dean starts. Cas puts a hand on his back, in a show of protectiveness. It makes him cut the crying, anyway.

Ellen shrugs. “Leafeon here survived the fire that took your mom. He needed a place to live. I’d like to think we built this place around him. Zebstrika came to us when your dad – well, if you don’t mind me sayin’, your daddy and I didn’t see eye-to-eye much. But he made sure it was clear that if somethin’ ever happened to him, his Pokemon was to come here.” She falls conspicuously silent. It’s strange to think about _other_ people having a complicated relationship with his father, but his parents were involved in a whole damn world Dean didn’t know about. 

“We’ll let you be for a while,” Tamara says, gently. There’s a wistful look in her eyes, and Dean remembers all she’s lost, too. She probably didn’t get a miracle reunion with her husband’s Pokemon.

Dean’s out to help her, too. Maybe people like her above all.

Leafeon and Zebstrika, despite their advanced age, soon start running circles around Dean and Sam, probably to keep them from getting away. It’s cause for a lot of laughter in their little group. Even more so when Espeon and Vaporeon join in the chase. 

Leafeon’s very tentative with the two other Eevee evolutions at first, his tail going rigid when they join in. Dean thinks that this will have to be the end of a really damn perfect day, because they’re going to have to take Vaporeon and Espeon home and it’s a damn shame, but Vaporeon apparently doesn’t even notice and bowls right over Leafeon, who gets up and chases after her, all his hesitance gone. All the Pokemon are fully welcome right after that, apparently, and Dean finds himself cracking up way too many times watching Amy’s Alakazam chase helplessly after the other Pokemon on foot. He’s not made for running much.

Dean’s somewhat nervous about Leafeon and Zebstrika’s reaction to Cas, because he’s been hanging back a bit, but he was worried for nothing. Leafeon sniffs at Cas, and then crawls comfortably into his lap; he’s almost overly friendly, considering they just met. Dean wonders if he’s left some of himself on Cas, somehow. It’s not a bad thought.

“My dad was – he was no prize, that’s for sure,” Dean explains, later, when he’s combing Zebstrika’s fur out. Cas is at his side, and Zebstrika is placid, eyes fluttering shut in sheer pleasure, and it’s all so – relaxing. Dean hasn’t had a lot of that.

“You don’t give two little kids Eevee evolutions in some sick attempt to replace their _mom_ , that’s fucked up,” he continues, his voice rising. He clamps it down again. “But… I wouldn’t have Vaporeon without that. I don’t forgive him, don’t think I ever will. But it was a shitty situation for everyone, and I’m – I guess I’m at peace with it.” Dean chuckles, and a host of other Pokemon in the ranch chatter back in response to it. “At peace. Never thought I’d say that about anything.”

Zebstrika bumps his hand, as if expressing her solidarity, and wouldn’t you know, the girl still sets off this prickle of static electricity, and the hair on his arm stands on end. Dean doesn’t mind it.

“We can come back later, right?” Sam cries out, from about thirty feet away. Espeon and Leafeon are playing with the foliage around them; Espeon makes the leaves float, and Leafeon bats at them. It’s ridiculous, but way too cute. Sam’s voice sounds grated, like he wasn’t doing too well with the whole _not crying_ thing, either. 

“Any time,” Ellen tells him. 

Slowly, they all trickle out of the enclosure. There’s still a lot of land to see, and they’ve got free rein of it until they have to pack back into the van. Dean wants to leave, sure, there are whole swathes of this place he hasn’t seen and Staraptor’s starting to get visibly bored circling around the perimeter of the farm area over and over again. But he finds himself cradling Leafeon until he good-naturedly starts squirming in his arms – Leafeon doesn’t like to sit still for long, Dean’s noticed that, someone needs to teach this guy how to be _lazy_ for a bit – or petting Zebstrika. She’s way less temperamental than he remembered. 

“This is really something,” Sam says to him, when he’s on the way out. Dean can’t even say much of anything in return, and Sam knows just how shocking that is coming from him. He just nods, and scratches the big tuft of grass on Leafeon’s forehead.

When Dean does leave the ranch, it’s with Cas and their Pokemon only. They wander through a small wood on the property, a path cut clearly through the trees. They walk through together, not saying a word, hands intertwined. A Croagunk hops right across their path on the way to a pond, and Cas lets out a chuff of laughter, but that’s it. It’s comfortable, even if they’re both quiet. Just wouldn’t seem right to keep talking at the moment. 

They’ve walked together in comfortable silence for what must be fifteen minutes, until the forest all but falls away and Dean finds himself staring out at the field. Plenty of Pokemon out there, some Dean dealt with every day at the nursery, some so rare Dean’s never seen in person in his life before. Families are out on the field, too, parents holding hands and kids messing around. The Pokemon walk right up to them.

It’s perfect. It’s absolutely perfect.

They must’ve planted a lot of ragweed out here. At least, that’s what Dean’s telling himself looking out at the wide field, because that’s when he just fuckin’ loses it. Second time today. The world before him smears with blurred tears as he sinks onto a conveniently-located bench. (There are a lot of ‘em around here. All pretty, all handcarved just like the furniture in the main farmhouse.) Cas couldn’t rush over any faster, and even through the tears Dean’s sure he could sketch Cas’ painfully earnest, concerned expression from memory now.

“My dad was right.” He’s not crying, at least he hasn’t gotten that low, but his voice makes it so damn obvious those tears are on the brink of spilling over. His mind whirls too quick, body going all but limp in response. It can’t catch up. “This whole time, he was right –”

“No, Dean,” Cas says. Dean feels Cas taking his hands back in his own. They’re warm, but more than that they’re _solid_ , and it feels like it’s bringing Dean back from some teetering precipice. “Your father was correct about some facts. But he wasn’t _right_. Nothing about the way he treated you was right. It’s a testament to _you_ that you’re the man you are now. Your brother too, from what I see. You’re the one who made him who he is. Not your father. Your mother would be proud of you. I think your father would too, eventually, but I also think his opinion isn’t worth a damn.” Cas pauses. “I’m sorry if that was inappropriate, but it’s how I feel.”

Dean could almost laugh at those last two sentences. It’s so very Cas.

He stays quiet, though. He still doesn’t know how to process shit like that; most of the time, the thoughts in his head swirl around how everything is his fault, how he couldn’t protect Mom or Dad enough to save them, how he couldn’t stop Sammy from running away and all but losing him, how he couldn’t get Vaporeon to be the damn champion he knows she is even after way too much training and how he lost her too.

But now he’s got – it’s small, and right now it’s fucking chaotic after years trekking across the whole damn country, but it’s a _life_. His own damn life, where he’s working to be the best he can be.

Dean’s grown up. Some part of him will always be John’s son, desperate for his approval. But he’s also learning exactly what Cas said, that for some things, John’s opinion wasn’t worth a damn. The tug of his fucked-up family will always pull Dean back under the water’s surface, in some ways, but he’s a _fighter_ , and he’s finally learning to take that word for the compliment that it is.

All Dean says, though, is, “Thanks, Cas. I – I really appreciate it.” He makes sure to squeeze Cas’ hand. He doesn’t say anything more than that on the subject, but Cas is good at knowing what he means anyway.

An Eevee meanders up to the bench. Not that Dean is biased or anything, but Vaporeon is definitely the most adorable – if he ever used that word, thank you – and best Pokemon of all. He forgot how damn cute and fluffy Eevees are, though, and this one’s already endearing herself to him by bumping up against his feet. Both Staraptor and Vaporeon regard the Eevee with utter wariness. 

“Be nice, that could be your niece or somethin’,” Dean points out to Vaporeon. He lets go of Cas’ hand, but it’s only to bring Eevee up on the bench. She settles into his lap easily, and Vaporeon cautiously pads over. They sniff at each other for a while, and then nod in understanding while Vaporeon curls against Dean’s side. Eevee curls her way into Dean’s lap, then promptly falls asleep.

Dean takes a moment to look out at the field in front of him. There’s an incredible variety of Pokemon out there, most of them abandoned or abused, all that he could help. There are people here who understand that, too, not least of all the half-man half-Pokemon sitting right next to him who’s stroking his Staraptor’s feathers in the way only apparently he, Dean, and Anna do correctly, or else Staraptor gets grouchy.

He lets his head drop to Cas’ shoulder. They must make a ridiculous tableau, but Dean doesn’t even care. “Let’s do it,” he tells Cas. “Ellie and Jo, they were talking about jobs. The Mary Winchester Pokemon Sanctuary, featuring Dean Winchester and Castiel Malach, part-time Latios.” 

Cas leans in to kiss him. It’s firm and sweet and it’s a good thing he breaks apart soon, because Dean’s not too interested in getting charged for public indecency at a place where he’s gonna seek employment. “The best words I’ve heard in a while.” 

The Eevee on Dean’s lap is snoring rather loudly for such a small Pokemon. In the distance, a couple of clumsy, charging Piloswine attempt to tussle with some Gurdurr, busy gobbling down berries off a clump of bushes, who couldn’t be less interested and simply meander away; it’s a pretty funny sight. The air smells like sea salt, the kind of smell that reminds Dean of his childhood and Vaporeon alike. Cas is so close to him, and warm enough to heat Dean’s side. 

The place felt perfect, before. But that’s not quite right, Dean realizes now. The place isn’t perfect. The place is a home.


	10. Epilogue

**_Four months later._ **

They honestly don’t own all that much shit, but moving all of it to Village Bridge still takes way too much time. Months, as it turns out. Only because Cas insists on doing it the old-fashioned way, and the old-fashioned way involves lots of slow-moving boats. 

Sam, as well as Amy and most of his college friends, went back to Carver. “I still wanna go to college,” he told Dean. “I cared enough about it to sneak around behind Dad’s back, and, you know, after the _world_ got saved, I still care.”

Sam couldn’t really meet his eyes when he said it, and Amy had a hand on Sam’s arm too, like she was preemptively giving him the strength for the inevitable argument. But all Dean said was that he got it. Dean was definitely mopey that Sam was leaving again, sure, but it was a normal kind of sadness. It didn’t feel like Sam was tearing the family to bits, or like he’d never see him again. 

They make a point to talk at least every other day. It’s surprisingly easy, a muscle memory. When Dean calls Sam on Skype and sees Amy asleep in Sam’s bed, the sheets pulled up high enough that he can’t see if she’s wearing any clothing or not, it’s instinct to crow at him over it. “Don’t you know that three feet have to be on the ground at all times, Sam!” he cackles.

“It’s the middle of the day, Dean,” Sam says, rubbing a hand over his forehead. 

Dean almost never got to have these kinds of conversations with Sam when they were growing up. Danger was always lurking somewhere, their dad told them in both word and deed, so everything was always so exigent. Fun didn’t really exist. 

Now, though, they can have these weirdly immature brotherly conversations. It’s what they saved the planet for. Dean wouldn’t change a thing. 

Both the Edlund Pokemon Nursery and the Mary Winchester Pokemon Sanctuary are running along perfectly. That’s what happens when you put Charlie Bradbury-Peri, newfound businesswoman extraordinaire, in charge of everything including the merger. Dean’s more than happy to marvel over his best friend, while still teasing her every day about the fact that she now goes to work _in an office_. She wears puffy overstylized blouses and pencil skirts and everything.

“Keep laughing it up! I’ll tell Ellen dress codes foster productivity!” she practically shrieked at him one day. 

“You wouldn’t,” Dean points out, “because that’d be torturing Ellen too, and Krissy and Michael and Asher. And you wouldn’t wanna do that to them, now would you?”

“Foiled again,” Charlie grumbles, good-naturedly. 

They might be leaving the nursery, but they’re leaving it in good hands. Nancy transferred from Carver to Edlund, which raised a lot of eyebrows, but she just shrugged and said she found Edlund far more welcoming. No one gave her a hard time after that, and it wasn’t surprising that she started working in the nursery. 

Tracy graduated – she invited Dean and Cas to her graduation, which still felt majorly weird, but they clapped loud and hard for her anyway – and she’s working there now, too. Claire volunteers so many hours that Jody kept trying to tell her to get some damn sleep and _study_ , at least until she carried her transcript through the nursery one day. Lowest grade she ever got was an A-. Dean doesn’t know why he’s so damn proud of that girl, but he is.

Kevin, Linda’s son, works at the nursery too. Dean suspects it’s because the other workers got him an in with Jake; Kevin and Jake talk on Skype all the time now, Kevin and his newly-acquired Riolu following the sharp, deliberate movements of Jake and Medicham. “ _I’m in so much pain right now_ ,” Kevin says after every call, in heaving breaths, usually lying on the ground. But of course, he’s doing it again the next day. That kid’s gonna be a hell of a fighter, Dean can tell.

Benny’s still there. Bela has told them that she’s terrible with handling baby Pokemon, but she can handle the finances and legal talk, and she’s “one heck of a whiz at it” according to both Charlie and an incredibly proud Victor (who puts in a lot of hours these days guarding the place _pro bono_ ). After the news got around that all of Edlund Nursery’s employees were involved in the damn _Battle of Opelucid_ , there’s a waiting list for volunteers, and an excess of cash flow. They’re putting as much of it as they can to making the lives of the Pokemon better.

Charlie, of course, likes to say that the nursery’s newfound success is entirely due to her new logo. It’s pretty hard to forget. Jody’s Grotle is on it, Pokemon resting at his feet while tiny baby Flying-types perch on his back. But dead center is Tessa’s Absol, staring straight forward as a challenge. He’s sitting right on top of the logo, paws curled around baby Pokemon, protecting them. 

A bunch of little Cubone are crouched around him, staring up adoringly. If the visitors had any doubts, that usually convinces them.

“Absol’s on the nursery’s logo,” Tessa told Dean, “and we’ve never been doing better.” She beamed, the big emotional reaction nothing Dean had ever seen from her before, and affectionally scratched the top of Absol’s head. He cooed in response, and bumped his head back against Tessa’s hand. 

Absol’s adorable. Dean never got what the big fuss was.

There’s plenty of good over at the sanctuary, of course. The workers are now all working fairly extensively with some brand new rescue Pokemon: Lucas’ Hydreigon, Roman’s Snorlax, Abaddon’s Tentacruel, and Azazel’s Hypno. For all the bragging their owners did about modifying DNA and wiping out years of evolution, it looks like their concoctions only worked temporarily. But the Pokemon are still traumatized, and they need a lot of care. 

And because life is weird, Vaporeon’s become more or less besties with Tentacruel. Dean always keeps an unnecessarily worried eye on them when they’re splashing around in the big fancy tank the sanctuary owns, but Tentacruel’s face is always peaked in a smile these days; Vaporeon swims easily between his many tentacles, and they play keep-up together. 

Staraptor’s teaching Hydreigon how to fly again; according to Meg’s very articulate words once she examined her, Hydreigon’s wings were “fucked the fuck up,” but she’s recovering. Slowly, like the rest of them, but coming around. 

As for Snorlax, well, she’s back to sleeping all the time, which is actually the best sign possible for a recovery. Hypno’s gotten enough of her facilities back to lead a tiny pack of Drowzee. People normally get a little freaked by a Hypno showing too much self-determination, so they try to keep her and the group out of the way of too many visitors, but Dean smiles when he sees her deciding for a group of Pokemon on where to go next, even if the answer is something like _bothering Dean_. 

The only one they’re missing in their lives now is Anna; she ain’t gone for good, but she’s still gone, and she isn’t too easy to contact these days either. A week or so after they got back from Gabriel and Kali’s wedding, she asked Dean and Castiel to meet her out at the plateau where the Battle of Opelucid took place. The city was working on converting it to a friggin’ _historic landmark_ , which meant it was swarming with workers during the designated construction hours and completely abandoned otherwise. 

Anna looks a little sheepish when she meets them, which isn’t much of an Anna expression. Her Pidgeot’s circling around her, and she’s got a burlap bag slung over her shoulder. Dean can guess where this conversation’s gonna go, but he’ll hear it out anyway. “Look, I know it’s not the best time. But I’m thinking about an extended vacation.”

“Meaning?” Cas’ eyebrows are up. Dean figures he knows what she means but he, too, wants to hear it.

“I’ve been in Opelucid my whole life. It’s a great city. But I gotta _fly_ , Cas.” The sheepishness is gone now, replaced by flint in her words. “I told all of you I’m here for the future. I meant it.” 

Cas’ only reaction is a nod. He’ll be upset later, Dean knows. He’s the kind of person who’s all stoic and starin’ off into the middle distance in the moment, but then later spends hours pouring sweat and beating his knuckles into raw meat on a punching bag at the gym. 

“Missouri told me it’s a healthy way of working out anger,” Cas said with just a hint of smugness. Whatever, he was the one who had to bandage his knuckles up afterward. If Dean spent too much time kissing over them, that was his own business.

Anna pulls Cas aside; Dean lets them be. He just watches them nodding together, speaking soft and low. They’re wearing sad smiles, but they’re still smiles. 

After a couple of minutes, Anna beckons him over. “Dean, it’s been great.” She drops her burlap sack and reaches forward with both arms to hug the hell out of him; she’s a much more enthusiastic hugger than her brother is. After a minute, she holds him at arm’s length, and Dean feels himself flushing in response to the intensity. “Didn’t think anyone could ever _get_ my little brother like you do.” 

Dean shrugs, even as he’s still blushing a bit. His love for Cas fills him to the brim, but it’s still weird when anyone else can see it. “He ain’t so bad, you know. Just give him some coffee and let ‘im take care of the plants in his apartment for a while.”

“Or an Oddish.”

“Definitely.”

Anna laughs, squeezes him one last time, then detaches from Dean to positively launch herself at Cas in a hug. He blinks in surprise, but goes with it. She rocks him back and forth, the two of them teetering across the grass. Dean will let their previous conversation stay private, but he can hear what she’s saying now. “The only one who was always on my side,” she tells him. Her voice is clogged with tears, but her tone’s happy. “I can never thank you enough for that.” 

When they break apart at last, Anna closes her eyes, and lets the wind whip up around her. It catches hold of her arms and torso and stretches them out and out and up, until she’s a shimmering behemoth floating a few feet above them. Dean’s seen her in this form a few times by now, and he still always has to catch his breath at the damn majesty of it all.

She bumps her head one last time against Castiel’s stretched-out hand, says _I’ll see you soon. I promise,_ and then she’s gone. 

Dean takes a couple of beats to swallow down his nervousness. “So, you think you’re gonna go with Anna?” He doesn’t know if he should be afraid of the answer. Dean’s stupidly tangled up in him, but in the end, Cas is his own damn person. 

But the threat of abandonment will always gnaw at Dean. Just because he has people in his life doesn’t mean he won’t constantly, constantly, constantly toss looks over his shoulder to make sure they’re still there. Hell, Cas was all but ripped away from him not too long ago, and Dean practically sunk into a fugue state while it happened. 

The balance tilts. It’s precarious as hell. Dean never wanted to be in this situation ever again; the hurt from Sam leaving is only just starting to scab over now. He could find a way to deal with it if Cas left, sure. He just doesn’t want to, doesn’t want to tear that wound open anew. 

“I expect to make a visit or two, yes.” Dean’s heart thuds funky, like it’s not sure how to take that. 

He’s a big boy. He can ask the damn question. “A visit means…”

“A visit.” There’s a beat, and then Cas is close, so close that Dean wouldn’t be surprised if he tapped into his freaky Latios powers to move that fast. He slides one hand into Dean’s hair – and _goddamn_ how much he likes that, he practically turns into Vaporeon rolling around on the sand just from Cas’ palm and thick fingers – and the other around the back of his neck. “Visits aren’t long.

“Anna was never meant to stay in one place, she’s meant to fly away. She used to break all of Zachariah’s locks on the doors and windows. He changed them three times in a month because of her, once.”

Dean hopes the bastard rots in jail. Every droplet of knowledge Dean gets about Cas’ childhood hurts him like spattered oil from a pan. They’re letting each other in drop by drop, and some day it’s going to be a rushing rapid around them, threatening to take them down.

But they can keep each other up.

“You, you’re a one-place person?”

Cas keeps his gaze right on Dean’s. “I never knew,” he says, “until I found the right place.”

In the next few months, Dean and Cas have their shitty moments, sure. Dean’s learning the hard way, both of them are, that trauma takes _time_ to get over, and there ain’t a magic button to make any of it go away. Cas frequently describes himself as _cantankerous_ , the two of them might be the most stubborn couple on the planet, and some days they can fight over the stupidest shit. Funnily enough, their second trip to Shopping Mall Nine ends in a serious screaming argument when Cas insisted on buying some stinky-ass candles. It wasn’t a highlight.

But they don’t let themselves go to bed mad. They had enough of that as kids, Dean angry at the whole damn world but mostly just his dad, and Cas furious with Zachariah and the strange hollowness inside him. And, most importantly, even through all the craters, every hard moment, Dean remembers Cas’ words. 

Dean and Cas shuttle back and forth between Opelucid and Village Bridge, using Cas’ Latios abilities. They’re pretty hush-hush about that, for now. “You guys are from Opelucid, right?” Ellen asks them one day, as she’s rolling big bales of hay into the pasture for the Pokemon to feed on or make nests out of. She insists on doing all that shit herself, even if Cas is always volunteering to the point of irritating her, not that doing that is all that hard. 

(Dean’s a little sad she won’t let him do that when she’s around, though. It’s _great_ to watch Cas’ forearms flex with exertion, the sweat gleaming across his brow and maybe even one lone droplet of it sliding down his collar to places Dean would like to feel out with kisses and tongue.)

“Yeah, of course.”

“How do you guys get here almost every day? It’s a long trek.”

Cas takes a beat to look at Dean, then offers up a terrifyingly awkward, “Oh, we, uh, take a very early ferry. We are very tired every day. Yawn.” Yes, Cas actually says _yawn_ out loud. Dean could facepalm.

Ellen just gives them a weird look, which is totally deserved, but thankfully leaves them alone after that. They’ll let her know the truth soon, anyway. 

They’d better. All their shit is _finally_ in their new place in Village Bridge. It’s not a tiny apartment like Dean is used to, and it’s not Cas’ bigger, fancier apartment either. Dean wants to laugh at himself for picking this place – Sam sure laughed his ass off when he saw it, Amy barely stifling her own laughter behind her hand – but it’s more or less a damn farmhouse.

Most farms, though, aren’t painted the shade of blue in the circle over Dean’s shoulder. Other farms have furniture that matches, not a bunch of tables and chairs that Dean and Cas carved themselves. Depending on what mood they were in that day, they made all kinds of styles, and all of it is strewn throughout the house. Dean’s forever pushing mismatched chairs back into place when Cas absentmindedly leaves them elsewhere. 

Hannah and Uriel pooled their money together to ship them a huge, gorgeous bed, the kind that will keep them warm in a couple of months when all that stands between them and the winter winds are the sparse tree groves on Village Bridge. Dean was able to refrain from making brain-scarring jokes about christening said bed. Of course, Gabriel made them instead.

So the farm’s a little odd. But without that, it wouldn’t be _them_. And it’s got a big yard, with big tall trees that cast cool shade over the entire reach of it and a pool for Staraptor and Vaporeon. 

There might be more coming, too. Dean and Cas have been looking into applying for a full team of six Pokemon, even though that’s usually just for serious trainers. They’ve been looking to expand their family, so to speak. They’re sure Victor would approve any application they put in, and Missouri keeps urging them both. 

Cas talks about Omastar and Lapras wistfully and often enough that he jokes about Staraptor getting jealous. She just bops his shoulder with her crest and flies around in low circles whenever he does. As for Dean, well, the only Pokemon he wants to adopt is a Cubone, or maybe fifteen. Though other species at the nursery in Opelucid keep giving him the eyes, and he’s a big softie about it. 

“What do you think about – children of our own, eventually?” 

“These gals ain’t enough?” Dean had asked, laughing, as Staraptor swooped low enough for Vaporeon to swat at her. Then he’d shifted his expression to something more serious. “I think it’s crazy. I also think your crazy ideas are the best ones.” 

He got a smile in return for that answer, and Cas’ hand in his. Dean’s heart was beating so fast it made his vision go funny, but out of exhilaration more than nerves. All of it was as good as _yes_.

There are tools in the backyard, too, because they’re working together to build a life-size Virizion statue for the entrance to the Mary Winchester Pokemon Sanctuary. Creating it is putting a bit of all of them out there: Mom, Sam, Cas. Even Dad and his weird hoarding. Families who don’t have a clue about the statue’s true meaning are gonna take pictures by it, with big happy smiles on their faces. It feels right.

They’ve spent a couple of nights at the new place already, and when Dean sat with Cas on the porch, both of them all melty and affectionate after sex and watching the sun set while their Pokemon romped on the field in front of them, all he could think was: _this is paradise_. More than that, it was happiness, and he kicked his way through shit and clawed desperately every inch of the way, but he got there. He really got there. 

Now, though, it’s – Dean blinks at the clock – 1:45 AM. He’s decidedly not on their enormous porch at the farmhouse, but in Cas’ familiar bed in Opelucid. It might not be the ridiculous four-poster beast Hannah and Uriel bought for them, its red throw comforter like a whole continent, but it’s warm and cozy and the first place they had sex and then fell asleep all tangled up in each other’s arms. The alarm’s set for 2, but the rustling next to him woke him up. There were a couple of delicious noises, too, bitten off where they could get louder.

“Hey,” he says to Cas, throwing the bed covers off. He’s greeted by exactly what he suspected, which has gotta be one of the best damn sights in the world, Cas with two of his amazing fingers shiny with lube speared inside himself. He’s fucking up into them, precise, measured motions. “You couldn’t wait for me to get the fun started?” Dean whispers, rolling his entire body over to get on top of Cas and kiss him into oblivion. It’s even better when he can work his fingers into Cas, figure out just how to open him up and get him _ticking_. 

Dean still feels Cas’ wrist sliding up and down while they kiss. Trapped between their bodies, it rubs against Dean’s belly, over and over. He can’t help it, he’s bucking against it soon, hard, his boxers providing no friction at all.

He practically rips them off. Pretty sure he set a record for quickest time he’s ever undressed. 

“I wanted to surprise you,” Cas tells him, his voice already dropped down into what Dean recognizes as his sex register. Damn good sound. 

Dean rears up so that he can keep watching the dirty slide of Cas’ fingers. “Good plan,” Dean breathes. “Great plan. I just prefer interactivity.”

He reaches over – it’s awkward as hell in his position, but seeing as he’s fallen over when they’re having sex before, this is nothing – and wipes his own fingers with the lube, starts slicking himself up as much as he can without going off. The whole room’s become nothing but wet noises and groans, a symphony to Dean’s ears.

“Can I?” he asks, nudging his cock against Cas’ thigh. That’s a question in itself.

“Thanks for joining the party,” Cas bites back, smiling. When Dean’s hands find his chest and grab onto his hips, they’re so damn hot Dean’s surprised his fingers don’t come away branded _Property of Castiel_.

He’s practically got it written everywhere on his body, anyway. Had it tattooed on his shoulder before he even knew Cas. It’s no _ownership_ thing, just what happens when you fall, entirely, into and for someone. Cas doesn’t want a tattoo, but he still lets Dean doodle crappy sketchy outlines of Vaporeon and Staraptor napping together on his arm sometimes.

Now, though, Dean’s only interested in marking Cas with more immediate tools. His fingers, his tongue. He bends down, smirking hard at Cas’ gasp of surprise, and uses his hands to push Cas’ thighs up and spread him wide. He laps slowly at the tight furl of muscle he finds there. 

Dean had been with his share of people who went absolutely fuckin’ crazy for this. He’s never minded doing it, because it spirals lust, dark and shameless, through him, and he loves seeing people’s most unguarded reactions. Nothing has ever been more satisfying, though, than Cas’ low moans, the way his feet twitch helplessly in mid-air. 

Cas pushes his hips back, going as slowly as possible, making sure Dean can take it. He can take more than this for sure, and he’s goddamn _ridden_ Cas’ face before, bent over a table and _shoved_ his hips back to meet his lips and tongue and later his dick, but secretly, he relishes how damn careful Cas goes with him every single time. Cas’ skin swells and ebbs right against his mouth, and he makes sure to taste it all.

He licks at him, over and over, using the wide flat part of his tongue and then narrowing right down to the flexible tip. It’s only when Cas is practically yowling for it that he realizes he’s been fucking right into his ass with his tongue.

Cas uses lube that tastes like watermelons, but a way faker, more cloying version. Dean could laugh, because not only is he used to the taste of the lube and its sugary scent, he practically rolled his face in it. 

Dean pulls back, even though he could probably do this for a couple more hours. “Ready?” he asks. 

“ _Please_ fuck me,” Cas sighs, complete with eyeroll. 

They line themselves up – they’re both big slippery disasters right now, so it takes frustratingly long, though at this point that’s mere seconds – and then Dean’s exhaling an enormous sigh as he pushes inside. 

Cas always grips him inside so tight. The guy’s made handjobs into a damn art, but his ass is an even firmer hold than his fist. Pulling out and pushing back in is an effort, even as lubed up as both of them are. Neither of them wants to separate from each other, not even for a second.

But it’s worth it to pull back to watch Cas’ whole body, from his face twisted in ecstasy to his heaving chest to the slick slide where they’re joined. Dean curls his hand around Cas’ dick, jumping against his stomach with every slow drive of Dean’s cock back inside him, and starts pumping. The rhythm doesn’t match the pace of their fucking at all, but Cas gets off on it. His hips are caught in a desperate tug-of-war with themselves, unsure if they’re going fast with Dean’s fist or slow enough to keep pace with Dean’s thrusts. 

Dean leans in to practically smash his lips against Cas’. He knows his face is still a fuckin’ mess, probably shiny with lube, so their faces actually _slide_ against each other. Dean doesn’t care, and judging from the way Cas’ hands come up to clutch at his hair, his neck, his very _skin_ , he doesn’t either. 

Cas’ fingers grab Dean’s hair hard enough to sting, but Dean gets off surprisingly hard at that tight grip. Gets off hell of a lot more, though, at the moan ripped right out of Cas’ throat, and him spilling right over Dean’s stomach. The way Dean is thrusting, Cas’ come gets smeared all over both of them in only a couple of seconds, messy and filthy as hell, and Dean’s answering Cas’ moans right back with some of his own over the firesparkler sensation of it all. 

A man can only take so much. Dean’s orgasm rips the breath right out of him. It’s a sudden motion, like being knocked on his ass, leaving him lightheaded and shaking. Cas is normally kind of gross about Dean’s come, wants him to mark it on his back or across his thighs, and he’ll pull away when he’s just about done blowing Dean so he can anoint his face with it. Like his skin has a damn craving. But this time, Dean’s caught too off-guard, and he finishes right in Cas’ ass.

All Dean can do after is make sure he’s not squashing Cas when he rolls over to his back. They have really fuckin’ good sex, absolutely incendiary, but Dean still finds himself marveling every time after.

Takes ‘em both a while, but eventually, the endorphins fade away and something like consciousness swims back. “That was acceptable,” Cas says, voice still juddering in the afterthroes of orgasm. “I’d upgrade it to good, even.”

Dean pokes Cas’ calf with his toe. “Quit being an ass,” he returns, good-natured.

“You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

“I only let you be a smart-aleck because you’re right.” With that, Dean rolls over – his body makes all kinds of ridiculous protests at that, God, he’s gettin’ old, but ain’t too bad because he never thought he’d live this long – and pulls on his discarded boxers and a fresh t-shirt. He dumped his jeans off the side of the bed before he fell asleep, but they’re still good too. “Next time we’re getting’ the wild cherry lube.” 

Idly, locating and putting on his own clothes, Cas asks, “I wonder if Village Bridge has a sex shop. Like in Shopping Mall Nine.”

“Always got your priorities right,” Dean returns cheerily. Now that he’s fully dressed, he turns to Cas. Even in beat-up old jeans and a t-shirt that Dean’s quite sure is one of his own, the neckline swooping down on him, he’s as damn gorgeous to Dean as he is lost in an orgasm. “Let’s get going.”

They wake up Vaporeon and Staraptor, who are still asleep in what’s an enormous cuddle pile on the sofa. Dean’s glad they’ve actually never had to deal with some kind of awkward mid-coital incident involving one of their Pokemon getting woken up. Everyone’s a little groggy when they head on out.

Because they’re seriously saps, they all head out for one final glide over Opelucid. Opelucid was the city that brought them together; it’s the place where they found happiness. Dean’s sure as hell not sad to be moving on to the sanctuary in Village Bridge, but he’s sad to be leaving. He knows Cas feels the same way, too.

Even this much of a dead-end time at night, the night’s lovely. Summer’s just beginning to wane, and breezes curl the air. By now, watching Cas glow and shift and stretch into Latios form, climbing right on his back, and gripping Vaporeon tight as they rise up up up into the air has become almost old hat. The nerves jolt Dean’s stomach, but they soon smooth away to excitement. Exhilaration. 

They spiral higher and higher. Cas, so used to his powers, moves quickly, and Dean can practically see the entire city by now. There’s the Edlund campus, a conglomerate of plain gray buildings, with their old bus route winding through it. The nursery’s somewhere in there; Dean sort of hopes whoever’s volunteering at the hour is sparing a peek out the window, and sees the two of them high up in the sky.

The storage locker, with its now-busted door, lies at the edges of the city. Naomi’s training gym is a chrome gleam flanked by spotlights carving out its figure in the darkness. The brilliant white rectangle in the distance, off to the side of a long stretch of highway, must be Shopping Mall Nine.

Dean could fill a couple of books with his stories from Opelucid. And yet, from up here, he realizes there’s so much about the city he didn’t know, he never knew, and he’s never going to know. Entire worlds.

And him, he and Cas, Vaporeon and Staraptor too, they’re part of the reason total strangers can live in this world. Just like Cas’ words about _a one-place person_ , Dean remembers that fact sometimes, and it knocks him off his feet all over again. 

His entire life, ripped to bits and started anew. Wasn’t so scary, as it turned out. 

“Do you ever think about the shit you didn’t know?” Dean will ask later, when Cas has morphed back and they’re sitting side-by-side on one of the gentle green slopes outside the city. Cas bought a picnic basket with him; Dean inevitably gets the munchies after sex, so now he’s trying to juggle eating Cocoa Puffs by the handful while keeping Vaporeon balanced in his lap. “What you didn’t do? How it could’ve changed everything?” 

For a bit, the only noise around them is Staraptor’s loud flapping. “I do,” Cas admits. “Do you?”

“S’why I’m asking you the question.” Dean smiles at Cas, too nervously. 

Cas lies back on the grass. He’s quiet for a long time, before he says, “There are ways it’s easier. There are no ways it’s better.”

Dean leans back with him. From this angle, he can’t see Cas, just the black bowl of the sky, pierced white with stars and the sliver of the moon. But he can feel Vaporeon tucked next to his hip, and eventually, he reaches out a hand to touch Cas’ with his own. “You’re absolutely right.”

Him and Cas ain’t anything like destiny, because screw that. But it just feels _right_ , and it has from the beginning. Even when they weren’t _together_ yet, and Cas didn’t remember Dean and didn’t even know who he truly was, something in the two of them made them pull together. That’s the thing: it was all them, just the way they are. 

“Means a lot for _you_ to say that,” Cas returns, voice filled with good humor. 

“Aw, shut it.” But Dean’s smiling. 

It’s almost morning now. Soon, the sun will rise over a brand new day. They’ll make their way to Village Bridge, and if Dean’s lucky he won’t puke on the boat ride over. Both Sam and Charlie will call him way too many times to make sure he’s alright, like he’s ten years old, while Cas will find more _subtle_ ways to fuss over him. Dean and Cas will probably have ten different tiny grumbly arguments while they put away all their crap in the new house, and they’ll go to bed way too late with the Kricketune practically screaming in the woods and keeping them awake anyway. 

The entire stretch of his life looms before him, offering an impossible number of paths to take along its way. But he knows a couple of things, above the rest: he’ll have his Pokemon. He’ll have Cas. He’s going to make it through, and he’s going to be happy.

In the end, that’s what’s going to matter.


	11. Credits

Oh my goodness, I can’t believe this fic is finally out there. I have been working on this baby for the better part of ten months, so it pretty much feels like my actual child. I have a ton of people to thank.

First off, thank you to my artist, nunubunkie. You can see her art [here](http://themonsterattheendofthisbook15.tumblr.com/post/134057276887/nunubunkies-gorgeous-art-for-this-dcbb-under-the), though be warned it contains fic spoilers! Thank you also to [Anna](http://archiveofourown.org/users/clockworkrobots) for making the preview graphic on Tumblr and my banner, and also in general for being an amazing friend who supported me on this fic from the beginning.

I cannot thank [Kora](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beenghosting/pseuds/beenghosting) and [Mara](http://archiveofourown.org/users/peridium/pseuds/peridium) enough. They are not only amazing betas but also some of my favorite people in the entire world, and are responsible for whipping this fic into shape. Without them, this fic would not exist. I know I sound very calm and composed here but TRUST ME I LOVE THEM SO MUCH.

THANKS 2 ANY SQUAD MEMBERS I DIDN’T MENTION ALREADY. You guys have been my sanity these past months.

A few miscellaneous thanks! Thank you to an old friend on Tumblr, Zi. Zi moved blogs and I lost track of her, but in case she ever sees this, she’s the one who convinced me of the objective correctness of Dean owning a Vaporeon. Thank you also to Amy, who suggested Cas could be a legendary Pokemon back in the early days of this fic. Amy was recently in a terrible accident, and lost her leg. She needs support and donations. If you’d like more information and to donate to her GoFundMe, [here is the link](http://slutstiels.tumblr.com/post/133388913591/please-help-andrea-laing-was-hit-by-a-train-this). Amy is a wonderful and kind person and any little bit helps!

Moderate apologies for the lines I cribbed right from canon. And the fic title.

Above all, thank you to you, the readers. Thanks for taking the time to read this behemoth of a fic. I hope you enjoyed it! Any and all feedback is very welcome. I’m on Tumblr at hufflepuffdean, mourning the loss of replies. Let’s Dean/Cas and chill.


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